


The Mean Bean

by elderbwrry



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - College/University, Artist Ben Solo, Barista Ben Solo, F/F, Fluff, M/M, Meeting the Parents, Minor Phasma/Rey (Star Wars), Minor Poe Dameron/Finn/Rey, Multi, Oxford University AU, Phasma Ships It, Poe is a good wingman, an college party, background finn/poe - Freeform, benarmie, brendol is a bad dad, but only a little bit of that, coffee shop AU, history student armitage hux, light drunkness, sex references
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-10
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:42:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 43,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26392102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elderbwrry/pseuds/elderbwrry
Summary: There's a new barista at Hux's favourite coffee shop. He's hot, he's flirty, he's exactly Hux's type... now it would be nice if this 'Ben' guy could actually get his order right.
Relationships: Armitage Hux/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren, Poe Dameron/Finn/Rey
Comments: 74
Kudos: 165





	1. A White Choc Mocha Frappuchino With Three Pumps of Raspberry Syrup, Whipped Cream and a Chocolate Drizzle.

**Author's Note:**

> So I don't really know what this is, but I've just smashed together a couple of concepts. Ever since I did research into universities for where I wanted to apply, I've been wanting to do an Oxford uni AU, so that happened, along with the coffee shop ideas from the wonderful [@elysiansith](https://elysiansith.tumblr.com/post/628712677540331520/sprinkles-make-everything-better-hux-studying-at) over on tumblr. Hope you enjoy it :)

It was almost one thirty in the morning and Hux, as usual, was buried inside a book. He was both tired and frustrated, which was not a good combination at the best of times, but an even worse one when he had only got through half of the studying he had been planning on getting done. This was what he got, he supposed, for taking Ancient and Modern History at Oxford of all places.

Looking down at his book, he stared at Cicero's take-down of Antony in Philippics II, and Cicero's take-down of Antony stared back at him. He was enjoying reading about this, he told himself; considering the man had been dead for almost two thousand years, Cicero certainly knew how to... what was the phrase Poe used that one time? Cut a bitch. Of course, the speech would be better without the homophobic mockery of Antony's character, but Hux could not deny that the phrasing was rather choice. So Hux was enjoying reading it, he really was. It was just that it was late, he was tired, and the sounds of the bop down at the college bar were providing a distracting thumping somewhere to his distant right, spilling out into the quad over which his small window looked.

He sighed and unblurred his vision; when he'd gotten into Oxford, he'd told himself – _promised himself_ – that he wasn't going to screw it up. He was going to do all the reading beforehand, party as little as possible, stick to his schedule and then emerge with a one-one degree in order to start his career as a historian, all without getting embroiled in a cocaine scandal. Oxford was his ticket to a future, to a financial stability that couldn't otherwise be assured by his turbulent relationship with his affluent father.

This was why he was determined to get through all his material; he wanted to walk into a lecture and have nothing he was told surprise him. If he read it all, he could be prepared. If he was prepared, he couldn't be surprised. If he couldn't be surprised, his workload would be achievable and produced at a high quality. Bish, bash, bosh.

Unfortunately, he wasn't sure the amount of reading they'd given out was within human capability to complete.

Mouthing the words along as he went, Hux turned himself back to the text. “'That is my father's fault', you will say,” he whispered, trying to summon up the ghost of the greatest statesman in the Roman Empire to guide him, “which point I concede. For truly-”

A peal of raucous laughter erupted from the landing outside his door, making him jump out of his skin. It was followed by an amused shushing and a few thumps, one of which rattled his door. “No, not that one,” he heard a playful chastisement. His room was on the top floor, so there was only one person it could be, and sure enough, he recognised Poe's dulcet tones.

Ah, he was back from the party then.

Pursing his lips and pushing his chair out from his window-desk, Hux stood and crossed the two metres to his door, willing himself not to snap at Poe the second he opened it. It wouldn't do well to antagonise his new neighbour on the third week of term, after all.

He didn't quite manage to open his door at a sedate speed, and instead whisked it open with a harsh squeak which was both satisfying to him and made all four people present cringe. Then, taking in the scene before him, Hux frowned.

“Hugs!” Poe greeted jovially, a tipsy smile on his handsome face.

Hux blinked at him blankly.

Poe and Hux had met last year during freshers', at which time Poe had offered him a beer at a party with a charming grin and subtly propositioned him. Hux had declined, but Poe was such a magnetic character around the junior common room and the whole college in general, he was hard to ignore. He was also second year, a Guatemalan-American modern languages student who was having no difficulty fitting in with the milieu of Brits around the university (something which Hux envied immensely, if he was honest). This year, the raffle of rooms had put them on the same staircase, right across from each other, and Hux couldn't deny that the guy was great to chat to. They were practically room mates, even if it was Poe coming into Hux's room and wheedling him to socialise more than the other way around.

The drawbacks of being friends with Poe, however, were apparently going to be things like this.

Along with him, Poe had brought back from the bop two other students in various stages of inebriation, neither of whom were particularly good at muffling their talking. Hux recognised Finn, a first year philosophy, politics and economics student at Balliol college who was currently leaning back against the landing window, across from the stairs. Poe had brought him round once before, during this year's freshers' week. The young woman, on the other hand, was new (Hux was sure he would have remembered her odd, loopy hairdo) and was sat on the top stair, slumped against the banister.

“Poe?” Hux asked flatly, hoping that his question would be interpreted as a warning to be quiet.

Poe obviously realised this, but his attempt at seeming more sober than he was was poor, putting his hand on his hip, smiling and raising the pitch of his voice as if this was the most normal thing in the world. “Why are you still up?”

“I'm studying,” Hux replied, not removing his hand from his door, still trying to process things in his tired brain. “Who's this?” he indicated the girl.

“Rey,” she replied in a well-spoken London accent, leaning around and offering a hand in such a way that also revealed that she had been drinking. “LMH.”

Hux ignored her hand. He hadn't really wanted to know, he just wanted her to  _go_ so he could get back to his  _work_ . He could still get in another forty-five minutes before he absolutely had to go to sleep. Unfortunately, he was beginning to fear they might be intending on... sleeping at Poe's, since Lady Margaret Hall was a little further away than she might be bothered to travel in such a state.

“Hux, you should have come to the party,” Poe said, “nobody's expecting you to do this much work.” He fixed him with a look. “Take a break.”

Hux shook his head, feeling exactly how much tension was in his neck as he did so. “No, I need to get this done.” He really did; he was supposed to be starting his optional Latin classes soon as well, and things would only get more hectic from there, so, actually he also needed to restructure his schedule and make sure to pick up some new notebooks from Blackwells and-

“Really, though,” Poe interrupted his spiralling. “You should take a break. Maybe you wanna go out and get coffee or something because we're gonna,” he clicked his tongue and pointed a thumb over his shoulder at his room, “you know.”

Hux frowned. They were going to... in Poe's tiny room... all three of them? He glanced at Finn, who was looking at him expectantly in a very 'give us some privacy' kind of way. So, yes. All three of them.

“I see,” Hux said, hoping the blush he could feel creeping up his neck wasn't too visible under his woollen jumper. Well. Annoyed as he was about his studying being disrupted, he didn't really want to hang around when things started... getting heated. This part of the accommodation was old and inexpensive because of the lack of such amenities as non-wonky stair cases, proper heating – hence the jumper – and thick, sound proof walls. Hux knew from experience that Poe and Finn didn't mind being loud. Absolutely every sound would come straight through the walls and into Hux's study bubble. “I'll head out then,” he muttered, grabbing his coat from the hanger on the inside of the door, flicking off the light and locking the door behind him.

He tried to get away as quickly as possible, clattering down the stairs in the hope that the faster he let those three do their thing, the faster he could study again without disruption, but he only made it to the first landing when Poe gave a spluttering laugh and called down to him. “Hugsy?”

_Ugh_ , Hux thought,  _that man and his nicknames,_ stopping in his tracks.

“What?” he snapped.

Poe held up his keys. “Can you open my door for me? The keys aren't straight.” Finn giggled at that. Hux glared at them both.

“Fine.” He ascended the stairs, unlocked the door – it wasn't even difficult, so either Poe was more out of it than he'd thought or he was just fucking with him – and flung the keys over onto Poe's too-cluttered desk.

He was most of the way down the stairs this time when he heard Rey ask from behind the closing door, “What's  _his_ deal?”

“Always studying,” he heard Finn reply.

Then, Poe's voice as the door clicked closed, “Needs to get laid.”

As a university city, there were a couple of places open late in Oxford for students to go if they needed late-night caffeine and junk food, but the idea of heading over to Cornmarket Street for an over-synthesised-tasting McCafe had never really appealed to Hux, and last year he'd found this cute little place much nearer Worcester College which was open late, did the weird flavour fusions he liked and was quite charming. Indeed, he was sure that coffee from the Mean Bean was the foundation his degree was going to be built on.

The walk over was cold and dark and drizzly. It was well into October now, so Hux wasn't expecting anything less, but it didn't help his mood. Poe could go fuck himself, Hux thought. _“Needs to get laid.”_ Hux scoffed. He was doing _fine_ in that department, thank you very much. Just before the summer break back in June, for example, he'd had a great night with one of the rowing team. When this term's set of exams were over, he was sure he'd find time to have a great night with again. For now, he was busy. He wasn't going to complain about that.

Still, the comment didn't leave his mind for the entire five minute walk.

The Mean Bean was the kind of place which didn't look like much on the outside, with its shopfront style window panes always covered with some degree of condensation, and the inside mostly populated by old and sunken out chairs, but once one got over that, it was... it was cozy, and it was good. He hadn't been thrilled about the run down edge to it at first, the lights hanging from the ceiling without shades and casting a too-tentative yellowy light over the wood-shaded aesthetic of the place, but everywhere else was far too heaving with people and they never got his order right anyway. The very best thing about the Bean was that they didn't judge Hux for his weird coffee orders like they did at Starbucks.

Hux stepped in from the cold, finally letting his arms extend properly out of his coat sleeves and walking up to the counter, still in a dream world of thinking exactly how he could get back at Poe for being disparaging about him. “I'd like a white chocolate mocha frappuccino with two shots of raspberry syrup, whipped cream and extra chocolate drizzle and biscotti on top, please,” he rattled off without thinking.

There was a beat of silence as Hux was still in his thoughts, gazing into the black and grey grain of the granite counter. He didn't even notice the barista was still standing there until they said, “Sorry, could you repeat that?”

Hux looked up, frustration rearing again as he opened his mouth to tell the barista that it couldn't be that hard, he just wanted a normal latte damn it, but he was frozen in his tracks at the man he found in front of him. He was tall – Hux didn't actually meet that many people taller than him so this was interesting – and muscular, if the way the black barista shirt was stretched overhis chest and arms was anything to go by, all angular facial features and a sexy, inquisitive little eyebrow raise. Not just that, but his hair was beautiful and dark, swept back like a prince's hair might be, and his eyes were an equally rich brown. Shit, that was Hux's type. Huh.

“Huh?” the barista parroted, frowning more.

Double shit, had he just said that out loud? “Nothing,” Hux said, shaking his head. “What did I say?”

“I don't know, I missed it,” the barista said.  _Ben_ , his name tag read. American, his accent added. “Something about raspberry syrup?”

Now it was Hux turn to frown, his mouth still hanging open without his permission. He closed it with a click. Raspberry syrup? That sounded like his comfort order... was he so tired he had said completely the wrong thing? “Oh, no,” Hux started, suddenly feeling embarrassed. Was it possible to get stage fright when ordering at a coffee shop? Ben was still looking at him with that sweet face and Hux was glancing around as if the menu on the wall behind him would save him and oh shit he was making a fool of himself in front of a hot new barista. He also probably looked like a tired mess, which didn't help. “Just a latte will do fine,” he mumbled eventually.

Ben cracked a smile, and the world crashed down around Hux as his brain couldn't find any eventuality in which this wasn't because Ben was making fun of him. He would have to find a new favourite coffee shop, and right now he would have to just leave and never come back and deal with the shitty coffee at the college and face studying without the overdose of caffeine he was used to and-

“No, tell me,” Ben prompted, “I want to try making that monstrosity.”

Something ticked inside Hux and he glared. So Ben  _was_ making fun of him?  _His_ raspberry mappuccino, a 'monstrosity'? Well, now it was a challenge. “I said, I want a white chocolate mocha frappuccino, two shots of raspberry syrup topped with whipped cream, chocolate drizzle and biscotti on top.” He pursed his lips. “Too complicated?”

“Not at all,” Ben said, punching the order into the till and turning to get on with it. “Just thinking it'll rot your teeth, sugar lips.”

The nickname hit Hux exactly where it was intended, he suspected. He was officially peeved. Something inside him wanted to defend his dental hygiene as well, but instead he just crossed his arms and blurted out, “I don't really give a shit, to be honest. I just want a cup of sugary coffee.”

“Anything you say, sweetie.”

Huffing, Hux purposefully did not watch the way the barista's muscles flexed as he reached up to a high shelf and grabbed a mixing cup. Instead, he ground out, “Don't call me that. I'll have you done for harassment.”

The blender started up just as he said the last part of the sentence, and, turning round, Ben shrugged and pointed to his ear. “Can't hear you,” he said, but it was so muffled that Hux had to rely more on reading the shape of his ludicrously pouty lips. A short moment later, the blender stopped, and Ben disconnected the mixing jug. “Are you going to sit down, or stand there the whole time like the littlest rain cloud?”

_Littlest?_ The voice in Hux's head repeated, scandalised. Then, he perched on the sofa closest to the bar, leaning his elbows forward over the little round table in front of him as he continued to watch Ben work, hoping it wouldn't take too long. He was really craving that caffeine and he didn't need to be antagonised while he was waiting.

A few minutes (and some smashed biscotti that made Ben's back shift distractingly in Hux's periphery) later, with a pause only to ask Hux whether he was “eating in or eating out, if you'll excuse the French,” a drink was set down in front of Hux in a tall sundae glass, Ben stabbing a paper straw into the top of the drink in a final flourish.

Hux took one look at the thing in front of him and grimaced. “Hmm, no,” he surmised. “I wanted the syrup mixed in, not squirted around the sides.” Hux turned to look up at Ben. “Do it again.”

“You didn't exactly specify,” Ben said, hands on his hips where the apron was tied around, seeming like he had toiled significantly harder on the drink than he actually had.

Hux cocked his head, preparing himself for a bit of an argument. “You have a 'drinks excellence' policy.” (They did, he knew, he had seen the plaque with it engraved on.) “And seriously, who puts syrup around the side?”

Ben didn't seem to have a reply.

“Do it again.”

Hux was expecting more of an objection, but none came. Ben just turned and went back to his work, not sparing Hux the view of his underwear peeking out the top of his black skinny jeans, beginning again the process of making the drink.

Hux looked around; there was only one other person in the cafe, another student by the looks of the haunted way she was staring, blank eyed, into her laptop screen. She was a little older though, so maybe a doctorate student or something. “Hey, would you like this?” Hux called across the room.

Doing a double take, she looked up and around to where he was sat, seeming very surprised he was talking to her. “What's it got in it?” she asked after a moment.

Hux shrugged. “Raspberry and white choc mocha.”

She considered for a second. Then, “Yeah, go on. Thanks.”

Hux crossed the room and gave it to her, catching Ben's eye on the way back to his table. Was he... watching him? Was he about to have an argument about non-transferable orders or-?

“I forgot to ask you if you have a loyalty card?” was all he said, before disappearing under the counter to get something else out.

“I do,” Hux replied sinking back into the sofa.

Ben left something blending and came around to stand by him, taking his card and punching another hole into it – hole eight out of ten – with, what Hux couldn't help but notice, were absolutely massive hands around the tiny looking punch. “You come here a lot, do you?”

“A fair amount,” Hux said, leaning his elbows onto the table again. “You won't be making me come if you don't get that coffee right, though,” he added, and then immediately blushed. Shit, he really did just say that. God, he was too tired for this, he wasn't the kind to say stupid things, let alone make innuendos in front of people he didn't know. If only he had some damn coffee, he wouldn't have-

But Ben merely smiled as if he had made a joke on purpose, handed back the card and said, “Nice. I'll keep that in mind.”

Hux tuned out the world for a minute by resting his head on the table in front of him and wishing he was somewhere else until his drink arrived. It looked about right, so he barely even thought before closing his lips around the straw and taking a long sip.

“Ugh,” he said, scowling around a mouth of icy stuff. “That is cherry.”

“It is,” Ben confirmed, smirking in that pretty boy way that Hux had never been able to replicate on himself.

“You  _can't_ be doing this to me,” Hux lamented. He was one step away from making a complaint to the usual cafe manager, when Ben plonked another, similar looking drink down onto the table next to it.

“I'm not,” he said. “This one is the one.”

“Really?” Hux deadpanned. “It's not strawberry or watermelon or fucking guava or something?”

“Nope, it is raspberry.”

“Finally,” Hux sighed, taking a draw from the straw and humming, pleased, when he discovered that it was indeed raspberry. Damn good raspberry as well. Thank god, Hux had seriously been considering just pushing past Ben and making the drink himself (though he thought that about a lot of things other people did haphazardly, so perhaps it wasn't so hard to drive him to that point).

“Do you mind if I sit here?” Ben asked, and, without waiting for an answer, dropped into the chair directly across the little round table, dragging the cherry drink towards himself and wrapping those obscene lips around the straw where Hux's had been not twenty seconds prior.

Hux jerked as if electrocuted when their knees touched under the table, sitting up straighter even as Ben did not avert his eyes – _who gave him permission to hollow out his cheeks like that?_ – as he drank, the cream on top of the drink sinking significantly down in the glass, merely pumping his eyebrows at Hux's minorly bewildered expression. Tentatively, Hux finally took another sip of his own drink.

“So,” Ben said when he finally pulled off, “what are you doing out getting a coffee like that so late?”

Hux shrugged, examining the chocolate drizzle on the cream. “My room mate's having a threesome.”

If Ben was shocked, he didn't show it. “And you weren't invited?”

Hux swiped up one of the biscotti crumbs from the top of the drink on his thumb and shook his head as he licked it off. “I already turned him down for sex once. He's going to owe me though, I have studying I was trying to do.”

“You're a student?” Ben asked, leaning back in his chair and placing a hand over his chest. “Be still my beating heart.”

Hux gave him a look.

“It makes sense, I guess. You look like the academic type.” He took a sip of his drink and continued around the mouthful, “wha choo schtudy?”

That did not make Hux want to laugh. It did _not_. “History, ancient and modern.”

“Cool!” Ben said, and he genuinely did seem like he meant it, his eyes crinkling in a way that made his moles blink like stars.

“How about you?” he deflected. He had never been the most comfortable talking about himself, even if he did think his subject – the rise and fall of empires – was the most fascinating thing in the world. “An American barista in Oxford isn't the best title for a movie.”

Ben nodded, smiling. “Gap year. I've got a friend out here, so it seemed like a good base from which to travel into Europe a bit. I'm even in the process of applying to the university.”

Hux's eyebrows raised as he took another sip of his drink, asking Ben – who wasn't actually as frustrating as he'd first feared – to elaborate once he had swallowed. “What subject?”

“Fine art,” he explained. “I'm sending in my portfolio soon and then the interview is in December.”

“Good luck,” Hux told him earnestly. He wouldn't be... averse to seeing Ben around more, and he knew what a big deal it was to get into the university for anyone.

“Thanks,” Ben said, and the way he ducked his head as he said it confirmed it for Hux; he was totally, royally fucked, because this weird, oversized man who couldn't listen to instructions for shit was super cute, and only a five minute walk away.

They chatted easily for another five minutes about nothing in particular, until Hux yawned and Ben suggested he go home and get some sleep. Hux wanted to be annoyed – that was a condescending thing to say, after all – but he also kind of agreed.

Standing, Hux thanked Ben for the drink. “Oh crap, I forgot to pay,” he added, reaching into his pocket for his card when Ben waved a hand in his direction.

“I've got it, don't worry.”

Hux regarded him for a moment. He was really... rather sweet. Pun not intended. “My name is Armitage Hux, by the way,” he offered. “Armie. Or Hux might be better, or-” he batted a hand, too tired to make it all fit together in a sentence. “Or something. You know.”

“Sure, sugar lips,” Ben smirked.

“ _Please_ don't call me that.”

“Not a chance.”

Hux was halfway across the room when Ben made a sound, like an aborted statement. He turned. “Yes?”

Ben hummed, looking... nervous? “If you want,” he started slowly, and even though they were several metres apart at this point, Hux still found himself leaning forward in anticipation. “Next time your room mate has a threesome, you can come and study here. I'm only on the late shifts Thursday and Friday, but I'm here in the day on Sunday through Wednesday.”

“That's...” Hux trailed off. _Perfect_ , he wanted to say. What he actually said was, “absolutely atrocious for your sleeping patterns.”

Ben shrugged. “So is studying until asscrack o'clock in the morning and then having ridiculously sweet coffee right before bed.”

“Touche.”

“So, I'll see you?”

Hux stifled a smile and nodded, leaving with a wave through the windows. He felt slightly sorry for the other student who had been forced to bear witness to whatever that had just been, but she was still hypnotised by her laptop when he turned the corner and lost sight of the shop.

It was still cold and drizzly out, but somehow things felt lighter as Hux skipped across the road to the college pupil's entrance, letting himself into the fortress of a place with his electronic key card and making his way around the now dark and deserted cloister to his staircase's entrance.

Ascending the dimly lit and squeaky stairs, he checked his watch. It had been a good half hour since he'd headed out, yet as he reached his landing, he could still hear chatter punctuated by soft moaning emanating from Poe's room. Feeling buoyed by the coffee and positive recent events, he knocked on their door and called out a commanding, “Go to sleep!”

“Not until you do, Armie,” came Poe's reply.

“I _will_ file a noise complaint,” Hux threatened in return.

“Whatever.”

He let himself back into his room, flicking on the light and receiving an overwhelming sensation of _fuck that_ as he was confronted by the open books on his desk. Cicero had waited this long, he could surely wait a little longer. Besides, he was dead, so it wasn't like Hux was about to miss any exciting developments.

He brushed his teeth in the shared bathroom one floor below, redressed into his pyjamas and got into bed, and, trying to ignore the noises that still hadn't stopped, thought about things. By 'things', one can here read _Ben_. Maybe... maybe Poe had been right, even if Hux didn't quite agree with his phrasing of 'get laid'. Maybe he _did_ just need to get out there. Maybe he needed more coffee.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a couple more chapters worth of ideas, but it's probably going to be a slow update for those. As you can probably tell, there's a lot flying around up in my fic idea airspace lol. It is not beta read so that's where the mistakes come from.  
> Comments/kudos are so uber appreciated!!! I'm just shouting out weird fic ideas into the void here, so thank you for reading it :)  
> This is where I am on [tumbly, @elderbwrry](https://elderbwrry.tumblr.com/). (edit: following chapters link to my old url, I can't be bothered to change it lol)


	2. Armie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long chapter, bit of backstory, and Ben's perspective! Enjoy :)

Ben couldn't honestly believe that this was his life.

During senior year, while everyone else was sending off their college applications and talking eagerly about where they wanted to go and what they wanted to study, anticipating their future of college parties and whatever the fuck came after, Ben had felt left in the dust as life flew past him at breakneck speed. He had no damn clue what he wanted to do.

His mom wanted him to apply to Harvard – “In _what_?” he had asked incredulously, lying on the couch. “Something you're good at, honey,” she had replied unhelpfully – but he suspected it was mostly to fulfil the expectations placed upon a senator's son, and he didn't know what he would even apply for. By the time he'd realised that maybe art would be a good direction for him, the application window had passed, and the talking to he'd gotten about time management had just made him feel even more dejected, like he'd failed his mother and his teachers and his uncles and, and, and.

“It's fine,” his dad had reasoned. “Just take a gap year, kid. You can help out at the garage, get some hands-on experience, eh?” But Ben didn't want to help out at his dad's garage; he'd been doing that every summer of his entire life and he had all the hands-on experience in that field he could ever want. No, if he was going to take a gap year, he didn't want it to be just an extended summer vacation.

“I want to travel,” he'd said.

“Wonderful!” his mother replied, “Uncle Luke would love to have you over in Tibet! I'll tell him you're coming.”

But Ben didn't really want to go stay with his uncle the entire year, away from anyone his own age in some spiritual retreat. He'd bemoaned the situation to Poe one night over the phone, lying half-on-half-off his unmade single bed in his overly cluttered room, wallpapered by various weird posters emblazoned with bands and movie titles no-one had ever heard of, trying to ignore how trapped he felt in his own life.

“You could come to England,” Poe had replied, sounding thoughtful.

Poe was one of his oldest friends, his mother's godson – his god-brother? – who was somehow able to balance all the expectations his mentors placed upon him better than Ben ever could, while still being likeable and just rebellious enough to be believable as actually existing. Two years ago, he'd applied to Oxford university half on a dare. He had then proceeded to get in and gone off to live a life of glamorous academia. (“It's not _that_ stuffy there,” he'd corrected everyone on his winter break visit home, to the disappointment of the few who had actually believed 3PO's tall tales about the place.)

“You think that would work?” Ben had replied, shifting so he didn't slip fully onto the floor along with the discarded clothes.

“Yeah,” Poe had sounded jovial. “Come over, your parents can pay for an apartment and then just get like, a job for if you want some travel money. Europe is right here, dude.”

“That sounds... keep talking.”

And so, the plan had been formed. Ben was going to move out to England for a little while, his parents sponsoring him a small flat in Oxford so he could be near Poe and so he could apply to the university – his mother thought that was a fine idea, as long as he also sent off some applications to American schools, just in case – all with the added bonus of being right on Europe's doorstep.

When he arrived, it hadn't been difficult to find himself a job in a little cafe, something he was finding surprisingly fulfilling, so gloriously different as it was to anything he'd ever done before. Then, to top it off, not two weeks into the job a man his own age had walked in and quite possibly stolen Ben's heart in a single moment.

“I'd like a white chocolate mocha frappuccino with two shots of raspberry syrup, whipped cream and extra chocolate drizzle and biscotti, please,” he'd said, and Ben did not catch a single word because this guy wasn't just 'cute', no. In Ben's humble opinion, he was next level.

He was wearing – although, on his slim frame, was 'bundled up in' in might have been a better description – a dark green sweater with a white design from the shoulders up to the neck under a stylish, long grey coat, the depth of colour contrasting with his ginger hair, which was adorably mussed up by the wind and rain outside. He had decided in that moment that he loved weird British weather, because – though Ben had no doubt that when he was well put together, this guy had the looks of a model – with his hair just perfectly out of place, he had a disarming softness.

“Sorry, could you repeat that?” he'd asked, hoping he didn't sound as foolish as he felt.

Then, all that softness vanished in a flash as the absent look on the cutie's face vanished, replaced by a little frustration and- ooh, that was just  _better_ . The way his mouth was half open – around a retort? Some cutting remark? - drew Ben's gaze to his lips, which he definitely wanted to kiss but dear  _god_ that would be unprofessional.

From there, he'd just kind of... panicked, fucking up the first coffee and then desperately trying to salvage whatever cool he had left in the man's eyes – Armie, as he found out later – even in the face of innuendo and mention of a threesome. (Was that what college was actually like? Wow.) But it had all turned out alright, and Armie hadn't seemed averse to the suggestion that he should come back when Ben was next on shift. The little smile he'd received through the shopfront window had even been enough to banish his worry that telling Armie his hours was too much.

Lying on his bed later – which he still never bothered to make, what do you expect? – in the dark of the early morning after his shift ended, he felt more motivated than ever to get into the university. Armie was there...  _Armie_ ...

He fell asleep inside a fantasy world where he was a student there, surrounded by the distinctive architecture and abandoned quads, and he and this cute guy from one of the other colleges – he didn't want to think of it as Armie specifically, but who was he kidding – met up and went for walks around the university gardens and by the river and did stupid things like kiss in the rain... ugh, it was a good fantasy world.

It wouldn't do to tell Poe the full details, but in the morning, he found he just had to talk to someone or he was going to explode. So, he shot off the kind of text he knew would make Poe ask more, and got to scribbling out some scenery studies of the city in his portfolio.

To his utter delight, Armie showed up rather frequently to the cafe, at varying times which Ben was sure must correspond to times of lectures or tutorials or, if he came in twice within about an hour and a half, a study period. At first, he was slightly offended that Armie hadn't taken up his offer of studying at the cafe, but it did occur to him that perhaps the place was too busy. He could understand that.

He contented himself instead by making a mental catalogue of all of Armie's various sweaters. Their colours varied, but their style was always adorable, and their number was... large. Just when Ben had thought he had seen every sweater it was possible for one man to own, Armie seemed to emerge in another one and renew the flutter inside Ben's chest.

Ben also discovered that Armie was not actually that fussy about exactly what coffee he was drinking; as long as it had caffeine in it, it met his standards, and any flavour combination other than the meanest of drinks quickly stood out as being reserved for trying days. One overcast occasion after a week of plain black coffees, Armie marched into the shop and tensely asked for the raspberry mochaccino he'd ordered the first time. Ben had looked him up and down, noting the set of his shoulders and the way he was worrying his lower lip with his teeth and asked, “Hey, is everything alright?”

Armie met his eyes and shrugged, taking a deep breath. “I turned in a dodgy essay and got the result back just now. It wasn't...” he trailed off, scrunching his eyes shut and shaking his head. Then, he gave a pained smile. “It wasn't even that bad, but... I should have done better.”

Ben thought about what to say to that. He couldn't just pass it off as 'probably fine' – that wouldn't work. He didn't just want to say that Armie would 'get it next time', especially when he already seemed like he worked too hard. Instead, he offered a smile, tapped the counter in front of him and offered, “I'll throw you in a free muffin with your coffee.”

Armie blushed – Ben couldn't help but wonder if he even knew he was doing it – and started to say, “No, I shouldn't, I-”  
“You sure?” Ben asked, already sidling over to the display of pastries and snacks. “I firmly believe that you should celebrate when crappy things are over.” He raised his eyebrows. “Is the essay over?”

Armie crossed his arms and pursed his lips thoughtfully. “Yes. I don't have to rewrite it or anything.”

Ben opened the display cabinet with the head nod of final judgement. “So. Muffin?”

Armie nodded.

“Blueberry, chocolate or toffee?”

A short pause. “Blueberry.”

He popped the muffin on a plate and slid it over the counter towards Armie, taking up a reassuring smile. “Don't stress it, sugar lips. You'll be back to it in no time.”

Armie returned the smile, and it was like a ray of sun coming through the clouds. “Thanks,” he said, turning. “I hope so.”

While he was preparing Armie's coffee, Ben glanced over once to the little table he was sat at, waiting. Armie was staring down at the muffin, a touched, unforced smile on his face as he began peeling off the wrapper. Today was a black sweater day, a kind of thin looking thing which, under that familiar grey coat, looked almost like something Ben himself might own. He allowed himself to consider it for a second, Armie swimming around in one of his sweaters, or even better, one of the worn band shirts his mother despaired of him keeping.

Then the machine beeped harshly, and he returned to his task.

Ever since then, Ben had made it his mission to randomly bestow upon Armie the gift of a flavoured coffee rather than of the boring ones he usually had, so he could see him smile and know it was his doing. Armie would come in, order a black coffee, and Ben would drum his fingers on the counter instead and go, “How do you feel about peppermint?” Bam, five minutes later, Armie was nodding appreciatively at him across the room with a green hued mochaccino in hand.

He started looking up new flavour combinations to try on Armie, scouring the internet for ones he thought would work best. And if the cafe was getting increased traffic due to the new barista's drink blending abilities (although no other beverage was ever made with the care and thought Ben put into those for Armie), that was just an added bonus.

“Do you go nuts for almonds?” he asked one day.

Armie frowned and tried to look sour. (He failed miserably, a traitorous smile emerging.) “Did you just pun me?”

“I did,” Ben replied, already having got the stuff out to make the new drink when he saw Armie approaching.

“It was shit.”

“Wow, tough crowd. Your answer?”

A second later, “I'm partial to them occasionally.”

“Perfecto,” he replied, flipping on the blender and grabbing the almond syrup.

He presented the drink to Armie, who tentatively lifted the straw to his lips – and dear god, he always did that in exactly the same way, like he was waiting for it to explode, his eyelashes always tilted down over his cheeks, and it _always_ looked divine – to take a sip. He pulled back almost surprised. “That...” he began, his eyes widening as they met Ben's. “That tastes exactly like my mother's bakewell tart. How..?”

Ben didn't have an answer. He wasn't even sure he knew exactly what a 'bakewell tart' _was._

Armie didn't seem too bothered by his lack of an explanation. “That is absolute madness,” he took another draw, “it's so good.” Then, he paused entirely and said sincerely, “Thank you, Ben.”

Well, if _that_ hadn't given him warm fuzzies.

The next time had been early in the morning; Armie had looked like death warmed up, and Ben was worried he was sick for a minute until Armie had confronted him, “I know, alright? I'm just really tired. Studying. Fuck me up.”

It had taken longer than Ben cared to admit to figure out what he was on about. _Oh_ , he'd thought finally, _caffeine_. Five minutes later, he'd plonked down a cup filled with as much espresso as he could possibly make taste good and told Armie, “This thing is like liquid cocaine. Enjoy.”

“Thanks, Ben, you're a life saver,” and immediately started downing it. Ben was left standing, minorly shocked, trying not to get too caught up in the way Armie was tilting his head back and exposing an extra sliver of his neck than Ben had ever seen before. With half the thing finished, Armie gave him a thumbs up and headed out, as if he hadn't just presented Ben with an image which would distract him for the entire day.

The latest beverage Ben thrust upon him was meant to be s'mores flavour. It was approaching the evening – so it was only about four thirty in the afternoon – and the outside had an air of cold fall on it. It would have been better to have made this drink earlier in the season, when people would still be having barbeques outside, but Ben thought he could still sell it.

There was no-one else in the line and only two other people in the cafe besides, so Ben tried to set the mood, guiding Armie to sit down with the drink in front of him. “Close your eyes,” Ben instructed, and to his utter amazement, Armie complied immediately. “Okay.

“Now imagine you're outside. It's crisp, there are leaves going brown all around you on the trees.” He had an image in his mind, an image which he'd actually drawn and submitted in his portfolio, of a beautiful fall forest scene from the time his family had visited Washington. “You have a little fire going. Imagine you can smell the smoke.”

Armie's nose scrunched sympathetically. It made Ben forget what he was saying for a moment. “Okay?” Armie prompted when the silence ticked over for just too long.

“Uh, you're around a fire with some friends, sitting on logs,” Ben continued, trying not to get lost. They were close enough now that he could count Armie's freckles, a pale smattering, but there nonetheless. “You're huddled together because it's cold, but your hands are stretched out so the fire can warm your hands. Try the drink?”

The drink wasn't warm, and as Armie brought the cup up, his long fingers curling around it and guiding it up to his lips, his eyes still closed, Ben hoped the description wasn't off putting. Then, Armie took a sip and made a sound which bordered on... well. It was very appreciative. It surprised Ben to hear him make such a sound, since he was usually so well put together, and obviously it surprised Armie as well, judging by how he winced and immediately said, “Excuse me.”

Ben didn't care. He _definitely_ wanted to hear that sound again.

Armie cleared his throat sheepishly. “It's chocolatey?”

Ben nodded, “It's got coffee too, of course. And something else.”

He frowned in return, examining the top of it. “I mean, there's marshmallow.”

“Hm.” Well, they couldn't all be winners. “There's meant to be like a toasted flavour.”

He took another quick sip. “Oh,” he said as he got a crunchy bit, “biscuit.” Then, a second later, “You know, I think I _can_ taste it.”

“Really?” Ben sat up straighter. “You're not just... being nice or-?”

Armie gave him a look, eyes flinty. “You should know I don't... I'm not nice to people just for the sake of it.”

Ben cocked his head. “You seem pretty nice to me.”

The moment the words were out of his mouth, he knew this was it, the opportunity he'd been waiting for; this was one of those times where everything could change, if only he took the steering wheel in both hands and guided it where he wanted it to go. It was perfect. He could ask Armie out right now. He felt the realisation settle in his chest, just beneath his lungs, and there was a headrush as everything around the cafe seemed to mute except for the man in front of him.

But Armie's eyes dropped and his fingers curled more around his cup, clutching it in closer. “You maybe don't know me so well.” He looked kind of... sad. Not at all like someone who should be being asked out.

Suddenly, Ben was reeling again mentally. He couldn't just leave things there, but he didn't want to make Armie more uncomfortable or-

He was spared as a new customer walked in the door with her daughter. He stood, lightly slapping the table. “I'll be back in a sec,” he said earnestly, and Armie nodded, without looking up. However, he had to go through to the back to get something for the order, and when he returned, Armie's space was vacated, and there was no sign of him out the window.

Things were slow.

Ben hadn't been having the greatest of times, since Armie had kind of... he didn't want to use the word 'abandoned', or 'walked out'. It wasn't like they were dating. It wasn't like... Armie owed him anything. Or he to Armie. It wasn't like that.

God though, he really wished he'd just bitten the bullet and asked him out.

Worse, he'd had to spend the entirety of his day off thinking about that fact.

What was it? Armie hadn't seemed at all sad until they'd had their little moment. Did he have baggage of some kind that meant he didn't want a relationship? Was he not even remotely interested in Ben? Was he just too fucking busy? None of these would have surprised Ben really, but all of them – especially the middle one, dear _god_ , the middle one – made him hurt a bit inside.

And it was fucking rainy.

So Ben stayed in and pelted Poe with texts. He had one theory that seemed to have any evidence behind it, and that was this; Hux had an unreasonable number of sweaters. Ben had counted at least five. There was the green one, the black one, the red one with the little leaf patches on the shoulders, and two shades of blue ones (although one of those was a cardigan, an outlier...) Well, there was only one reason Ben could think of that Armie should have so many sweaters, and in those sizes.

Armie clearly already had a boyfriend.

Some of the jumpers were even slightly too large, which supported this idea completely.

This left Ben in the awkward position of figuring out whether he should just accept it, or face the reality that he was prepared to break Armie's relationship up just for a chance between them. (He wasn't going to. Or maybe he was. But he wouldn't – he couldn't... Except he could...) I mean, how good could their relationship really be, if he'd never brought the guy in to the cafe for a date, huh? They would be better off broken up, and then everyone could be happy.

Although Ben wasn't _really_ callous enough to believe that Armie would be happier with him.

 _What do?_ He texted Poe.

 _Let's go paintballing_ , Poe had replied.

Paintballing had been great fun. The course had let them play outside for some fucking reason despite the weather, so it was cold as shit, the mud had gotten everywhere and Ben was bruised all over. He'd gotten off some fantastic shots, and, even with his larger size, had managed to avoid sticking out too much from the areas of cover.

He'd loved it.

Poe's friends were cool as well, and after a brief introduction, he, Finn, Rey and Rose ended up making a good team while a group from another college had been roped in as their opposition. Everything had been so hectic and fun that his blunder with Armie the other day had not only been completely driven from his mind in the moment, but it also bugged him less when he got back to his apartment. As such, he was cheerfully spending his night shift doodling in his sketchbook when the man in question entered.

“Hey!” Ben had greeted, looking up when he realised who it was, and then frowned as he saw a full satchel hanging against one of Armie's hips, and two books tucked under his arm in addition.

Armie opened his mouth and closed it again, shrugging after a moment and adjusting his grip on the books as he seemed to cast around for an explanation. “There's a party at the college. What with... what happened last time and the loud music, it isn't exactly conducive to studying.” He began to walk forward, placing the books down on his usual table at the sofa by the counter. “I thought I might take you up on the offer to study here instead.”

Ben gave a welcome gesture to the cafe at large, pouting his lips in a summation of the scene before him. “Be my guest,” he said, “the party here is just getting started.”

Armie glanced around at the entirely empty cafe, seemingly unreactive to his obvious joke until he replied, “Slow night?”

“Definitely,” Ben stood up from the stool he'd been perching on, “although infinitely faster now. What can I get you?”

“A black coffee, please,” Armie said, taking his coat off, sitting down and getting things out of the satchel in a series of graceful motions. He looked great at the moment, Ben thought, despite the fact it was nearly nine at night. Was he that much of a night owl?

It was a different sweater again today, Ben also noticed, a rich yellow turtleneck which made him look delightfully slim and oh no, if Ben continued down this train of thought, he was going to end up directly where he was before paintballing.

Quickly, to distract himself, he turned to the coffee machine and started to get Armie's drink ready. When he took it over and set it down on the table, he tried not to get too caught up in what Armie looked like in that sweater – tried not to think about the associations turtlenecks usually had – instead letting his eyes wander to the textbooks. One of the closed ones seemed to be something about the Byzantine empire, while the two he was currently pouring over and scribbling out notes on were Latin.

“That looks fun,” Ben noted with a hint of sarcasm. “What's it about?”

Armie looked up, eyebrows raised as he processed the question. “Oh,” he said, checking over his notes, a translation, Ben now realised. “Ceasar perpetrating war crimes.” At Ben's slightly taken aback look, his lips quirked and he explained, “There appears to be a lot of that sort of thing in these assignments. The man obviously had a flair for it.” He reached for the coffee and took a sip, humming in appreciation and going back to his notes.

Ben went back to his sketchbook – a rather nice line drawing of an imaginary stone throne room was shaping up – and sat down at the counter. He filled in some more of the piece for a while, thickening certain lines and adding to the background detail of the lava lakes. It was a nice idea, if a bit edgy, and on the sketchbook page, it represented a little slice of an entire imaginary galaxy in which, perhaps, he was something a bit more impressive than just a barista. In that world, he was certain, he would be able to command Armie's attention without this nervous second guessing.

He looked up at the man himself, still thoroughly absorbed in his studying. Armie was leant forward, just a little hunched over his books, but in such a way that he seemed more engaged in what was written there than weighed down by it. His tongue stuck out just a little and his gaze switched to the page before him, frowning down at it and writing a furious note for an extended moment, until the thought was captured and he straightened up, completing the motion of wetting his lips. Then, he grabbed his cup and drained it, placing it down again without really coming out of his world of textbook.

Subtly leaning back, Ben flicked on the coffee machine. He knew the look of an empty cup. Armie would need a refill.

Ben marvelled at quite how entrenched Armie was when he completely failed to notice the things that happened in the cafe around him. First, a pair of girls their age came in, dressed like they'd been somewhere nice, ordered some frappes to go and even chatted to Ben while he got their drinks together. They weren't particularly quiet, but Armie didn't seem at all distracted. It left Ben a little confused; if Armie could concentrate so deeply, how come the party bothered him at all? (He didn't even want to consider the possibility that maybe, Armie had simply wanted to have his company for a little while, even if that was spent studying. It's a pity he didn't think this, as it was closer to the truth.)

Secondly, Armie did not notice that Ben was preparing a replacement cup of coffee for him, despite the hissing of the machine and the clank of a new cup being brought out of the cupboard. Indeed, the only thing that snapped him out of his focus was his distress when he reached for his cup again and found it disappointingly empty. That soft, disarmed pairing of drawn brows and a slightly open mouth crossed his face again, and Ben hurried over with the replacement cup so he could put everything back to rights.

He plucked the empty cup from Armie's fingers, grazing them with his own, and transferring the new cup to him in its place. “Never fear, sugar lips,” Ben said, risking a wink over his shoulder as he ferried the used cup to the sink, “I wouldn't leave you hanging like that.”

Armie flashed him a small smile (privately refusing to believe that the wink had been the smoothest thing he'd ever seen, in his limited experience of people flirting with him) and tried the coffee, humming the familiar hum of approval.

 _That hum is payment enough,_ Ben thought, and then cringed internally. He did _not_ want to become some sappy romantic, and he definitely did want to continue getting paid for making coffee. After all, not everyone who came in was Armie. Then again, what did that thought say about him? Maybe that he would happily make Armie coffee any time, even outside of the cafe setting they usually found each other in. Maybe-

“Ben?” Armie said, drawing him out of the spiral of thoughts he'd been caught up in, standing and staring down into the collected items in the sink.

He turned, “Yes?” Armie was looking straight at him, and, despite the heating and the thoroughly mundane nature of the situation, a shiver went down his spine.

“Are you just going to sit behind the counter all night?” There was a hint of judgement in Armie's tone.

Ben surveyed his sketchbook and little Star Wars pencil case next to it on the counter. “Oh, no, I don't have to. This is just what I usually do on slow nights. Why?”

Armie glanced at the space next to him on the worn old couch. “There's plenty of space,” he suggested, “and it's probably more comfortable.”

Well, Ben couldn't argue with that. He gathered up his drawing things and headed over, sinking down into the cushions and trying not to get too distracted by the dip caused by how close Armie was sitting. Couches, Ben thought, had a special kind of physics, through which one could feel the presence and movements of others... in relation to the couch. He thought of how to phrase it as a joke, before deciding that Armie would probably think it was lame.

Putting the thought to the side, he opened up his notebook and settled down to his drawing again while Armie worked, a comfortable silence falling over them for a long while, only added to by the light humming of the machines and the occasional scratching of pencil on paper.

“That's really good,” Armie commented at some point, still at work on something in his book.

Ben hadn't even noticed him looking, but his chest warmed at the praise. “Thanks,” he said quietly.

“How is the uni application going?”

He shrugged. “They've asked me back for an interview in a few weeks.” Sending off his portfolio was one of the scariest things he'd ever done. He hadn't been putting it together for nearly as long as he thought he should have been, and on top of that, what if they lost it or something? He loved that work. But they hadn't lost it, and now they wanted to see him.

“Congratulations,” Armie said, pausing to nod at him. “I'm sure they'll love you.”

Ben found that he couldn't move. Hearing those words from Armie, so close to meaning what he would quite like them to mean... well.

“Have you any plans for the Christmas period?” Armie asked him after a pause, turning a little now to face him. His pencil was still in his hand, but it had ceased its note taking. His eyes were inquisitive and... hopeful maybe? At least they were, until they dropped to the collar of Ben's shirt, at which point, a little frown appeared, and his lips pressed together as he looked very deliberately _away_ from that place.

What?

A little self-conscious, Ben brought his hand up to rub at the spot under the guise of scratching his neck. It hurt, and in Ben's brain, it clicked; paintball. His entire body was covered in bruised patches from being pelted with the little paint bullets, one of the reasons he was wearing a long-sleeved shirt today to cover some of the more unsightly patches on his arms. Mostly, they looked distinctly like paintball bruises, spreading and concentrated around a lighter patch, but if the one on his neck was one of the less bad ones... But Armie couldn't think it was a hickey, surely? He had to know Ben wouldn't have flirted with him like he did if he was in a relationship?

“I'm off to Germany,” Ben found himself saying. It was true; next week he had planned to visit Berlin as part of his great gap year adventure (he only called it that ironically at first, but here he was, months later, and it had stuck). “You?”

“Oh, I...” Armie seemed a little dispirited. “I'm staying with my father in Scotland. The term ends next week, but I have to go straight there, and-”

“Next week?” Ben asked. “The end of next week?”

Armie frowned. “Yes?”

 _Fuck_. He let out a sigh of frustration. “I won't see you before the holiday,” he said, “I'm going midweek.”

Armie nodded his head, but the little pout which accompanied it made Ben feel _bad_. “Enjoy it,” he said, but it didn't sound like he fully meant it.

“Hey,” Ben said, reaching out before he could stop himself, his hand ending up on Armie's mid back. Armie turned back to him, his seafoam eyes still downcast. Ben should offer his number, he thought, or suggest they see each other during the holidays (also difficult, since he had to fly back to America on the 21st, and Poe would be staying with him between now and then) but he didn't. “Can I make you one of the new seasonal coffees they got in? We aren't supposed to start making them until next week, but since I'll be gone, I won't be here to do it while you are.”

At the offer, Armie seemed to hearten a little. “What is it?”

“Gingerbread and cream latte,” he replied, smiling. His hand was tingling where it was still against the soft thread of Armie's sweater.

Armie hummed. He shifted his weight just a little, and it sent him back, infinitesimally further into Ben's touch. “I don't like celebrating Christmas too early,” he countered.

“Come on,” Ben said, standing, allowing his fingertips to trail over Armie's elbow for just a second before heading to counter.

“Fine,” Armie relented, setting down his pencil. “Though I think, perhaps, it should be my last for this evening.”

Ben tilted his head at him, still smiling a little. “You'll love it, ginger snap.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all of your comments and kudos!!! I don't know much about American university applications, so apologies for any inaccuracies there (even tho there's barely anything about it). Also, this chapter saw me googling whether Americans have bakewell tarts or not? Do you guys?  
> As usual I am over on [tumblr @pompous-hat](https://pompous-hat.tumblr.com/).


	3. Friendship Is A Funny Thing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hux goes to a party and ends up drunk on Poe's floor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Light Phasma/Rey in this chapter

More coffee was what Hux wanted, and it was what he got. A shit tonne of it. He seemed to be permanently buzzing either from how much caffeine he was pumping into his veins, or from lack of said caffeine. And Ben – sweet, lovely Ben – was the fountain of all sugary coffee orders.

Hux was finding himself going to the Mean Bean every single day, (although Ben's days off were particularly disappointing, he still needed caffeine, so he still went even though the experience was sub-par). Poe was beginning to complain about the times of night he was coming and going to get coffee – once at the beginning of his study evenings, once much later on when he was ready to wind it up, and occasionally a cheeky refill in the middle. “You don't have to slam your door every time,” Poe told him after one too many disrupted nights, “what are you even doing?”

But Hux wasn't _quite_ ready to admit that seeing Ben before he went to bed was becoming one of his favourite parts of the day. He didn't want to seem _that_ pathetic, after all. (In reality, he always tried to hold in his mind the way Ben formed the name “sugar lips” as he was falling asleep.)

To be fair to himself, he was getting a lot of studying done as well and he was feeling mostly confident about his classes in a way he hadn't since before A Levels. The work he was turning in was good, and, as December and holidays approached, he was hopeful it would be enough to stave off his father's criticism of his subject choices. He also decided that he would let himself party for one night. As a treat.

Every year, the Jesus Colleges at Oxford and Cambridge had a joint party, alternating between the two universities as hosts. It just so happened that this year, the party would be held at Oxford, and as such, the Cambridge lot would be coming to them. It also just so happened that Hux's best friend from school went to Jesus College Cambridge, and would be coming at the same time.

Nobody had really been surprised when Phasma had been accepted to Cambridge for English – certainly not in the way people had been surprised when Hux had been accepted for history at Oxford, despite his abrupt subject change from the sciences to such a competitive humanity – but Hux had been gutted to lose the company of his friend, and as such took every opportunity to see her. Their school, by comparison, had been more than happy to send them off in their different directions, thrilled to publicise as much as possible that they had managed to get _two_ people into Oxbridge from their class, rather than the usual one.

Hux was excited to see Phasma.

Other than that... he was feeling a little deflated, if he was being honest.

The looming prospect of returning home for the holidays in a week was getting to him. He would be away from his few friends, and Brendol was insisting they spend the break in the large holiday home in Scotland, visited by his businessman and politician friends, practically all of whom Hux hated with a fiery passion.

On top of that, he had gone into the coffee shop on Thursday only for Ben to inform him he would be away for the last week of this term. “I'm off to Germany,” had been his exact words, rubbing his neck self consciously – although it actually made his muscles stand out really nicely – but which also made Hux worried that asking about his Christmas plans had been a step too familiar. He'd been building himself up to being more comfortable about that kind of thing, but then he had hesitated at the point of offering Ben his phone number, and Ben hadn't offered anything either, so now of course Hux was worried he had been reading things wrong and, what with the thing he was pretty sure was a hickey on Ben's neck- ugh. It was a mess.

But no – for now he was going to enjoy time with his friend.

“Armie!” Phasma called as Hux came out to meet her at the college entrance, easily recognisable in her signature silvery bomber jacket and killer eyeliner. He allowed her to draw him into a hug before leading her inside, up to his room. She wasted no time in flopping down on his bed and catching him up on everything that had happened since they had last seen each other in the summer, even though they texted regularly enough that he knew the general outline of the gossip.

Eventually, she stopped, sighed and looked around. “Your new room is really fucking small, you know.”

“I do know,” Hux told her, tilting back his desk chair with a foot on the low post of his single bed. It had been a bit of a struggle for him all term, actually, as there was this slanted bit of wall near his desk that he would hit his head on if he wasn't careful. The bed also wasn't quite long enough for him to fit in comfortably, and the effect was almost comically emphasised with the way Phasma was lounging around on it with her extra few inches in height. “We can't all live in some massive country college, like you.”

Phasma scoffed. “I'm surprised you haven't complained.”

“And lose these views?” Hux deadpanned, pointing at his window and its twilight scene visible through it. It was the most Oxford thing he'd ever seen, he'd thought when he'd got the room, what with the quad and cloister right there, and the opulent architecture of the building opposite, the lower wall swishing with tastefully curated ivy. “It serves my purposes,” he said, shrugging.

“Your 'purposes'? That's not a sex thing, is it?” Phasma asked, frowning. “Because it's barely big enough to swing a cat, let alone have rampant-”

“No! What?” Hux replied, confused and slightly flustered by the potentially graphic route she had been about to head down. Trust Phasma to say something bluntly by means of getting information out of him. She'd been bugging him for over a year now about when he was going to try the college dating experience. She swore like a trooper, given half the chance, and had a mind just as dirty, though she passed it off as being 'a sign of intelligence'. “I just meant studying.”

“Good. I was worried you'd gotten a life suddenly.” Hux was about to be offended, but before he could, Phasma rolled off the bed and stood up, ducking a little to avoid the light fitting. “Come on, we need to go.”

Phasma opened the door and took a single step out before stopping with an abrupt jerk and a surprised sound. From where he was still in the main part of the room, Hux had no clue what was happening until he heard another female voice exclaim out, “Oh god, sorry!”

“No, no, that was...” Phasma replied, “my fault.”

Hux shifted around to see what was happening over Phasma's shoulder. The other occupant of the landing was Rey, a light blush covering her cheeks. “These stairs...” Now she was edging around towards Poe's door, a look on her face both embarrassed and... flirty wasn't the right word, but it was bordering on it.

“Are you Hux's neighbour?” Phasma asked, and Hux could tell where this was going. “If so, he's been holding out on me.”

“No, Phas,” he tried to correct, “I told you about Poe already-”

“I'm Rey,” Rey talked over him, and he rolled his eyes, retreating back to his desk chair and examining the light peach colour of his walls in an attempt to remove himself from the situation. “I know Poe.” Hux thought that was an understatement, but whatever.

“I'm Phasma,” and Hux could hear the smile in her voice now, the one she used when she was inhabiting her role as the Oscar Wilde of lesbians. “I'm visiting from Cambridge.”

“Oh, for the party at Jesus?” Aaaand the smile was clearly working.

“Yes, that's the one. Can I expect to see you there?”

A pause, and Hux imagined Rey tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, before, “I think so.”

“Great, I'll buy you a drink.”

“Sounds perfect.” The sound of Poe's door opening and- wait, did Rey have a key now as well? “See you, Phasma.”

Hux put on his best unamused expression for when Phasma turned back into the room a second later. She was grinning. “Come on, Armie, we do have to go.”

Following her down the stairs and shrugging on his jacket – the nice one, black with dark red trim – he muttered, “I don't know how you do that.”

“Confidence. You could try it.”

“I have plenty of confidence,” Hux accused her an hour later at the Jesus bar, two drinks in.

Phasma had started by introducing Hux to the various other people she knew from her college, all of whom seemed nice enough, but not really either of their speed. Hux had nodded in greeting to the few people he knew himself, including Dopheld from his Latin class, whose college this actually was. Now, they were milling around in a corner waiting for a good song to come on while Hux apparently had an internal crisis about how his friends seemed to think he had no game.

“Is that so?” Phasma accused back, bopping along to the music, her own drink in hand, keeping a careful eye on the door.

“Yes!”

“Which is why you are so painfully single.”

“No, I'm just busy,” Hux leaned back against one of the deep-green painted walls. The Jesus bar was nice, full of cute lights and comfy chairs, all nicely colour co-ordinated with the college crest, but it was a little cramped and the section with the blacklight revealed some questionable splatters that weren't just UV paint.

Phasma gave him a look. “When was the last time you went on a date? No, even easier, who was the last person you flirted with?”

When he didn't immediately reply, she took a sip of her drink as if to say, 'there you have it', spluttering when he then resolutely announced, “Ben.”

“Ben?” she demanded, when she'd gotten her breathing under control again. “You did not tell me about any Ben, who is this?”

At that very moment, whoever was sorting the music decided to put on _Mr. Brightside_ , and a cheer went up from everyone as the initial guitar notes pinged around the room. People were sing-shouting the words, because, even after sixteen years, the song hadn't lost its magnetic hold over every British person for miles around. The racket could probably be heard from the next college over. And, of course, as a Brit himself with a bit of alcohol in him, Hux wasn't at all immune to being drawn into the chaos caused by the song.

Phasma would just have to wait to get her answer, because there was no way they would actually hear each other over what was about to ensue.

The two of them were squished into the jumping, shouting crush, moving along in jerks that could only be barely called 'dancing'. “Gotta gotta be down, because I want it all,” everyone said, and Hux sang-talked along. He had never particularly _listened_ to the lyrics before, even though he knew them off by heart – who didn't? – but now, he felt weirdly like they were telling him he should be dancing _with_ someone right now. “It's all in my head, but she's touching his chest now,” Hux swished his hair, trying to imagine it. All he could think was that he would like to be dancing with someone who wasn't his best friend, but maybe a bit more... Ben shaped.

“Open up my eager eyes,” Phasma called out, twirling around, even as Hux found himself drawing to a stop, wondering what Ben's dark hair would look like in this light, whether he would be able to dance, what kind of thing he'd wear to a party like this. In a moment, he was sure that it would feel wonderful to be pressed closely to that broad chest at one of the underground bars just like this, moving around in the half-light and laughing tipsily before stealing off to one of their dorms, trying to avoid stumbling onto the manicured quad lawns in the process.

Wow, he really hadn't expected to feel so lonely tonight, but here he was, pitying himself because he hadn't asked out some cute barista.

Well fuck that.

He threw himself back into it, really getting into the second “just fine”. He  _was_ doing just fine. He was out of his cage, he was fine, he was, he was... not drunk enough for this. He let the wave of music – bringing yearning with it, where did that come from? Bloody hell – wash over him as the ' _I never'_ s kicked in, hitting the beat with some head banging and letting himself smile along with the air grabs Phasma delivered on the song's final three stabs. Then, he scurried over to the bar.

The song faded into another Killers song,  _All The Pretty Faces_ as he ordered himself a southern comfort and really, who the hell was on the music that these lyrics were busy mocking him again?  _“Help me out, I need it_ ,” Brandon Flowers' beautiful voice called out across the speakers, and Hux shot back his drink as if to say, 'I'll drink to that'.

“So who is this person you've completely failed to tell me about?” Phasma asked, squishing into the bar next to him as he ordered another shot.

“Ben,” Hux reminded her, shooting the stuff the bartender laid down as well and then gritting out during the burn, “he works at my usual coffee place.”

Phasma's eyebrows shot up. “A barista? You know that is too perfect, right?”

Hux sighed. Phasma had told him once, after they'd received their acceptance letters, that she thought the only reason she had managed to have so many thoughts on literary theory in the admissions interview was how much fanfiction she'd read in recent years. He didn't need to know exactly which coffee shop AU she was conjuring up in her head at that very moment. “This isn't one of your fics, Phas. Just because I get coffee from him a lot does not mean he likes me, or we're about to get some happy ending or anything. For one thing, I think he's already _in_ a relationship of some kind, and for another thing, I have no idea why he would decide _I_ , of all people, would be worth it. God, I don't even know if he likes men.”

“Armie, please,” Phasma said, making a face like it was obvious what she was about to say (and maybe it was, but the alcohol was starting to kick in and Hux couldn't really be bothered to figure it out.) “Trust your instincts. The worst he can do is say no.”

Hux's mouth dropped open. “But that's terrible!” he lamented. “And not true. Besides, I'd never be able to go in there again. They do really good coffee.”

“They do, or he does?” Phasma asked, motioning for the bartender to get them more drinks.

“They, the place,” Hux frowned as the dude set down two vodka cokes this time. “Hey, shouldn't you be making me drink some water, or-?”

“I'm an enabler, not your nanny,” Phasma said, sliding one glass closer to him. “Now tell me about him.”

“He's tall and hot,” Hux summarised. “I think that about covers it.”

“Hell no! How long has he worked there?”

Hux shrugged. “Like a month.”

“A  _month_ ?” Oh no, Phasma was definitely scandalised that he hadn't told her. He would suffer for this at some point, he was sure. “Are you mad? Go and ask for his number! Forthwith!” She was clearly also excited for him; she only broke out the fancy words when she was getting invested in something.

“Can't.”

“Why the fuck not?”

“He is in Germany.”

“He's in- wait, what?” She was getting a little annoyed now. She wanted details and he was  _not giving them to her_ , instead turning to lean over his drink and stare into its dark brown colour, which reminded him traitorously of Ben's eyes.

“He's on his gap year,” Hux shrugged. “He's travelling a bit.”

“...He's not German, then?”

“No, American. He wants to study art at the university and his friend is-”

Phasma grinned. “He's an art student as well? You do realise that at this rate he is practically begging to be asked out by a cute regular just like you.”

“No I...” He wanted to refute her, wanted to pour out all the possible reasons why he would never be the kind of person Ben was looking for, not with his rampant caffeine addiction and permanent case of the stress-related crankies. “He's... annoying, he calls me silly names.”

“Like what?”

“Sugar lips, ginger snap.”

“You definitely aren't drunk enough to pretend that isn't a come on, Armie.”

“It just wouldn't work, Phas!” he snapped, finally turning back to her, only to see her gaze falling over onto the door. He turned around to see that Rey had arrived and was scanning the crowd, a smile forming on her face when she spotted Phasma, who nodded at her.

Dismissively – and he deserved it after that, who was he kidding – she patted him on the shoulder and began to walk off. “Think about it. You don't have to live in self pity. Just have a little confidence.”

Hux finished his drink pensively. He  _should_ just ask Ben. He should. It would be weird, but he should. Phasma returned only once to buy Rey a drink, but it quickly became clear that the rest of the night would be devoted to wooing her, not to convincing Hux that he was in a real life coffee shop AU. (He wouldn't be convinced. That bollocks only happened in stories, and it certainly wouldn't happen to him, so there.)

Paying what he owed at the bar and waving to Phasma (and Dopheld – Hux got more friendly the more tipsy he was) he headed out. He knew who he could get real advice from.

“I brought you coffee,” was the first thing Hux said when a tired Poe opened his door.

“Hux, what-?” he began to say, but Hux was already walking straight in and carelessly making a little space on Poe's cluttered desk on which to put the coffee.

“I didn't know what you liked, so I just got two black Americanos,” he explained.

It had been an interesting journey over, actually, feeling the effects of the alcohol trickling into his system and making things steadily more difficult to do as it did so. He'd got coffee from the Mean Bean – he'd even, stupidly, felt disappointed when Ben wasn't there, even though he'd  _known_ he wouldn't be – and tottered over, hoping the girl serving hadn't caught onto his intoxication, and if she had, that she hadn't judged him too hard.

“Sorry for waking you up,” he said, and then belatedly realised that the desk was cluttered with  _study things_ , the bed was still made, and Poe wasn't wearing pyjama clothes. “Wait, are you still up?”

“Yes,” Poe said, coming over to start clearing things properly, in a way that didn't just constitute piling stuff up over and over when it slipped down again, like Hux had been doing, sounding irritated. And well fuck, wasn't Hux just having that effect on everyone tonight? “I've got an essay in for tomorrow. I got an extension for it.”

“Oh,” Hux said, stepping back and letting Poe do his thing. “I should... I'll let you get on with it.”

He turned to leave, and then wondered how crestfallen he must have looked, because Poe asked more kindly, “No, what were you after?”

Hux shrugged. “S'fine, don't worry.”

There was a hand on his elbow, turning him around, back to the centre of the room. Poe had stepped forward without him noticing, a frown on his face. “Hux, have you been drinking?”

“Yeah,” he nodded, taking a deep breath. “I was at the Jesus party with Phas. Have you met Phas? She's cool. Very scary but she does good hugs. Might have stolen your girlfriend though.”

“No, I haven't met her,” Poe said, guiding Hux round to sit on his bed, while he resumed his place in his desk chair. “And Rey and I aren't exclusive, if that's who you meant. She said earlier she was going to see someone at the party.”

“I see,” Hux said. Then he frowned. He didn't need to be guided around like some silly person, he wasn't _that_ drunk. He'd gotten up the stairs just fine, for example. He'd only stumbled once, or something.

He was busy thinking about all that again, when Poe finally said, “Hux?”

“Hmm, yes?” he asked, refocussing (or, as Poe saw, blinking kind of like an old man might do if he'd just been woken up from a nap).

“Why have you brought me coffee?” Poe gestured to the cupholder on the desk.

“Oh! I need your advice,” Hux said, making grabby hands at the coffee. “Gimme.”

Poe handed him a cup, and Hux immediately stood up again and started pacing, not bothering to take a sip, but just sinking into his comfort action with the warm cylindrical thing in his hand. “What on?” Poe asked. He still sounded tired, but what was Hux supposed to do at this point? Just  _not_ rant?

“Okay, so there's this guy,” he said, taking two steps and turning (these small rooms were no good for pacing, damn it). “Hot, out of my league probably, or whatever it is you lot say,” he gestured at Poe, because, to his drunk mind, that was just the kind of thing Americans said. “But I want to ask him out. How do I do that?”

Poe shrugged, taking a sip of his own coffee now. “Just do it.”

“Yes, people  _say_ that,” Hux pointed at him, “but it sounds like a trick to me.”

“It's not.”

“Shh, don't say words, just advice,” Hux reprimanded, closing his eyes and pacing again, narrowly avoiding a collision with the dresser corner. “He works at my coffee place now and it's absolute torture and I need to know how to fix it, Poe. I've been drinking so fucking much coffee and I was trying to study there the other day, but it went shit because he was just _there_ and I was too busy thinking about talking to him and trying to work up the nerve to ask for his number, which I _didn't do_ , and he got my coffee order wrong like three fucking times once, which I think was on purpose, actually. The place was fine last year, but now I can't go in without imagining our wedding and how many cats we are going to have.”

Poe was frowning still, but, mid-pace, Hux realised it wasn't an 'I'm considering advice' frown and more of an 'I'm putting two and two together' frown.

“What?” he asked, drawing to a stuttering stop.

“Coffee place... are you talking about the Mean Bean?”

Uh. What? “Yes?”

“And this guy you're talking about... has he got dark hair, quite tall, permanently pouty?”

Oh god. Oh no. Oh dear fucking Zeus. “Tell me this isn't going where I think it's going.”

Ben's words were echoing in Hux's ears as it all fell together. He was applying to the university, he was American, he was too attractive for his own good.  _“I've got a friend out here.”_ Yep, all of that sounded like exactly the kind of person Poe would know.

“Is this guy's name Ben?” Poe asked, the fatal words, nails in a coffin, it felt like.

Hux groaned, sitting down on Poe's bed again, and then getting the hell in and leaning back until he was lying with lower legs were hanging off the side. (His coffee was still upright of course he wouldn't let the most important thing in the galaxy go to waste.)

“Yeah, he's my friend,” Poe said, and his desk chair creaked as he turned around in it – the lucky bastard had a swivel chair – followed by the sound of things on his desk shifting as he looked for something. (Hux didn't know what for, he was too busy examining the ceiling and thinking about  _why_ his life had to be like this. First Phasma wanted to set him up, and now Poe probably would too. This wasn't the unbiased advice session he had hoped for.)

“Weirdly, as well, he's been telling me all about a certain guy,” he added.

Hux's stomach dropped. “Fuck,” he said, drawing it out and bringing one hand up to slap his face. Either his heart was about to be crushed as Poe told him it was some other guy, or it was about him and he was about to feel very stupid.

There was the clicky sound of a phone screen unlocking and Hux realised what Poe had been looking for. He struggled against gravity, but he couldn't get himself up before the bubbly sound of Poe scrolling through texts was making itself heard throughout the room. “Lol,” Poe began to read out, “'I pissed off this totally cute dude today. Do you think they'll fire me for messing up a customer's order until he stays?'”

“Hey,” Hux protested, putting his yet untouched coffee down on the table and reaching for Poe's phone.

“'He's one of the uni students',” Poe continued to read, not shifting his attention from his phone but deftly avoiding Hux's attempt, leaning back and raising the device up. “'He wears these adorable little sweaters, but he has so many of them? Do you think he has a boyfriend he gets them from?'” _scroll scroll,_ “'Next time he gets it to go I might put my number on his cup.' Then he was worried that would be too cheesy.”

“Poe!” Hux's voice and frustration was rising now, and he lunged for the thing, but the world was a bit floaty and he misjudged it completely, tumbling off the side of the bed in a thunk of elbows and knees. He tried and failed to get up properly. “Ah, shit.” He gave up and let himself go limp, embracing the life of being on the floor.

Poe leaned over and looked down at him, like he had fallen into a ditch or a well or some other type of hole and needed a hand out. “You alright there, buddy?”

Hux gave him a look. “Why didn't you tell me?”

“I didn't know!” Poe said, spreading his hands. “Tell me how I was meant to know he was on about you, or that you'd even met him.”

Hux made an exasperated sound and reached for Poe's phone again. “Gimme, I want to text him.”

“Hux, you aren't sober,” he reasoned, moving his phone out of Hux's reach again. “I'm not going to let you drunk text anyone. Especially not on _my_ phone.”

“Poe, you're a shit,” Hux accused, slapping his leg in another failed manoeuvre to get the device. “I am very good at drunk texting, I have never once even made the slightest of spelling mistakes. Give me your phone and he will be mine.”

“No,” Poe said flatly, but he was moving his phone around to do something which Hux couldn't work out until he warned sedately, “Smile,” and the flash went off.

“Hey!” Hux shouted, the extent of what he was able to do to help the situation.

“Look, don't worry about it,” Poe told him, turning back to the desk and sipping his coffee. “Ben'll be back next week for uni interviews.”

“I'll be in Scotland by then.”

“Then he'll be back in January for the new term. Don't stress it. Just ask him then. I can promise you, he'll really appreciate it.”

“No,” Hux groaned. “That's... that's bad and wrong. I shouldn't have to do things in person. You're a bad wingman.” He focussed on Poe, trying to pout so he would take pity on him and just give him Ben's number, when he noticed that Poe was, in fact, drinking the second cup of coffee, _his_ coffee. “You owe me one of those,” he scowled, pointing at the cup.

Poe laughed in disbelief. “You are _addicted_ Hux, you need to chill on it for a while.” Then, he looked thoughtful. “Actually, if you're so worried, maybe this is the perfect time to drink water, since the coffee isn’t working out.”

Hux scowled more. “Blasphemy.”

* * *

It was late, and Ben was just settling into the lower bunk of a bed in the youth hostel's shared dormitory in Berlin when his phone buzzed. It was dark in the room and his eyes burned as he unlocked his too-bright phone. The text was from Poe.

He opened the notification, finding it contained a photo and a caption. _Your coffee shop crush says hi_ , the text read. The photo was overly bright in some places, due to the use of a flash, dark around the figure at the centre, showing the leg of a bed and a carpeted floor. The figure, surprisingly, was what gave Ben pause.

Armie.

There was something so unguarded about the photo, about the innocent indignation on his face, about the way his hair was in disarray for only the second time Ben had ever seen. He wasn't wearing a sweater, and it made Ben feel almost like he was seeing something he wasn't meant to, but the casual black button-down paired with the black and red trim jacket looked great on him, charming in a different, sharper way.

Ben smiled silly at his phone, lighting up in a way that had nothing to do with the brightness of his screen. Then he frowned.

> **Ben**
> 
> _What is Armie doing on your floor?_

Five minutes later, the reply,

> **Poe**
> 
> _Armie? I'm only allowed to call him Hux._
> 
> _That's basically second base_.
> 
> **Ben**
> 
> _Poe. Info plz._

While he waited for the reply, he looked back to the photo. He wanted to screenshot it, but he felt a little bad. It was a lovely, candid picture at least, not at all like the photos that had been taken of himself by his friends (blurry and out of it at best, kissing completely the wrong person at worst and making him feel embarrassed for the next week).

> **Poe**
> 
> _He's got the room across from me_
> 
> _You need to start describing people better. I had no idea from what you said you were on about him._
> 
> **Ben**
> 
> _Sure. Next time I'll draw you a mugshot._
> 
> _wait how did YOU know it was him?_
> 
> **Poe**
> 
> _He came in ranting about this guy from a coffee shop. It sounded too much like you._
> 
> _He's drunk btw_
> 
> **Ben**
> 
> _ drunk??? bc of me? _
> 
> _wait what was he saying_
> 
> **Poe**
> 
> _ No he was at a party _
> 
> _he was saying that you're cute_
> 
> _out of his league or something_
> 
> _You need to stop giving him so much coffee he's been fuckin wired lately_
> 
> _Really ive never seen him like this B_
> 
> **Ben**
> 
> _ Can you give him the phone? _
> 
> ** Poe **
> 
> _ god you two ask exactly the same _
> 
> _no_
> 
> _if you're gonna flirt I don't want that shit on my phone_
> 
> _accidentally finding your shirtless pics once was enough for me_
> 
> ** Ben **
> 
> _ give him my number _
> 
> **Poe**
> 
> _ No! Talk in real life! Like adults! _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading this! I hope you enjoyed it! There will probably be a longer pause before I update this time, as I currently don't have another chapter written (although I know where I'm going with it) and I've got some other things I want to be posting during October. You all know where I live on [tumblr @pompous-hat](https://pompous-hat.tumblr.com/).  
> ✧･ﾟ: *comments✧･ﾟ♡*( ͡˘̴ ͜ ʖ̫ ͡˘̴ )*♡･ﾟ✧kudos*:･ﾟ✧


	4. Wanna Tell Me About It?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hux has had an argument with his father, and he could really use a hug.

Poe was unpacking his clothes into the dresser when he noticed Hux arrive. The college had only just opened for students to move back in for the new term, so he hadn't seen his neighbour at all for the past few weeks. His own door was open, through which he saw when Hux made it to the landing supporting a cardboard box in one hand and dragging a suitcase in the other, but when he called out a cheery greeting, the sight he was met with made him frown.

Hux looked terrible in the crisp, wintery light of early January, tired and dejected and just a bit like he'd been crying.

“Hux, are you okay?” Poe asked, immediately putting down the shirt he was holding and going over. He moved to take the box, but Hux pulled it back from him and turned away to jam his key in his lock using the hand he'd been dragging his luggage with.

“My father just dropped me off,” was all he offered.

Poe's mouth clicked closed. He kind of knew Hux wasn't as keen about his family as most people were, but he hadn't realised it was this bad. Maybe they'd just had an argument, or-

“How was your Christmas?” Hux asked as the door creaked open, shoving it slightly with an elbow, but not turning around to face Poe.

“Alright,” Poe told him, drawing to a halt in the door frame. It'd been pretty good actually, discounting the way Ben had complained at him about his utter refusal to give him Hux's number, but he didn't want to inundate Hux with how nice it had been while the opposite seemed to be true for him. “There was a snowstorm we got stuck in just after New Year. Wasn't sure it would clear in time to make it to the airport.”

Hux hummed, plopping the box down on his desk and turning around to sit heavily on his bed. His shoulders dropped and hands squeezed between his knees as he kept his eyes carefully downcast, away from Poe's face.

Tentatively, he felt he had to ask in return, “And you? You said you were going to Scotland?”

“Yeah, it was okay,” Hux nodded, swallowing visibly and Poe had an awful feeling he was trying to compose himself. “It was a bit-” his words hitched, something between a hiccup and a sob, ducking his head as he finished, “lonely.”

That broke Poe out of his place, where he had been stock still and looking on helplessly. He came forward and put a hand on Hux's shoulder, seeing tears glistening in his eyes. He was blind-sided, honestly; he'd never once known Hux to be like this, his emotions usually going straight to annoyance or some well-placed sarcasm, fierce and unshakable. “Do you want a hug?” Poe offered seriously. His hugs were the best this side of the Atlantic, of that he was sure.

Hux shrugged. “I don't usually hug.”

“But do you want one?”

Hux paused, glanced up. Then, he nodded.

Before Hux was even fully on his feet, Poe had pulled him into a firm hug. He didn't like seeing Hux like this, for all he could be prickly and difficult at times. For a moment, there was nothing except a few hiccups from Hux – Poe didn't mind, he could do more than enough of the hug for both of them – but then, he felt Hux hesitantly return it, with a hand between his shoulder blades. A few moments more, and the hiccups had gone off.

“This is odd,” Hux said, sounding significantly more like himself.

“Nah,” Poe replied lightly. He'd never really listened to people who thought showing affection to their friends was weird, especially in a situation like this, where one clearly needed a good hug. Then again, he'd always been physically demonstrative about everything, so it naturally extended to his friendship. Indeed, the only awkward thing about it was that their heights and builds were slightly misaligned.

“No,” Hux agreed, giving Poe a squeeze in return. “Thank you.”

Eventually, Poe drew away, keeping his hand on Hux's shoulder and looking him in the eye. He couldn't get what Hux had just said out of his head. “I'm sorry I didn't give you Ben's number I... I don't know, got it into my head it would be better if you two did it in person and I just... sorry.”

Shaking his head and giving a weak, placating smile, Hux told him it was fine.

“Let me make it up to you. Should we go get some coffee?” Poe really did feel bad. He wasn't sure what Ben's hours were, but he could always shoot off a text to see if Ben would come to the shop in about five minutes.

Hux looked around at his stuff. The bed was still without sheets, the suitcase still packed and the box on the desk full of books and knick-knacks was yet to be put away. “Give me half an hour and that sounds good,” he said, lifting a hand to rub the back of his neck.

Poe's eyebrows raised. “What's this?” he joked, “Hux delaying an opportunity to get coffee? You've turned your life around.”

Hux actually rolled his eyes at that. “Keep dreaming.”

Feeling as if he'd at least helped a little, Poe crossed the landing back to his own room and went back to tucking shirts into his drawers, leaving both his and Hux's doors open for a sense of companionship. He was just thinking that maybe he should ask if Hux wanted to apply for a joint room for next year, when he heard the ringing of a phone, shortly followed by the sound of Hux's door being closed, and then a muffled “Hello?”

The conversation started fairly sedately, but just at the point Poe was sitting down at his desk to mess around on his own phone for a bit until Hux was ready to go, the tone began to change markedly. The answers became more clipped, the time between them extended, and when Hux finally did say something approaching a full sentence, his tone had risen angrily.

Despite himself, Poe couldn't help but hear some of the things being said, the walls being so good at conveying the sound instead of blocking it out, and he leaned around the door frame of his own room to look at the white painted door of Hux's.

“I don't give a shit! This is what I-” he heard, quickly followed by a, “I'll use whichever words I like!” The creaking floorboards would be Hux pacing, trying to get out what Poe was sure would be nervous, angry energy from whoever he was speaking to. Another minute, and Hux's volume had levelled out again when he spoke, so Poe couldn't hear anything but the occasional word, the distribution of which sounded very much like he was trying to momentarily raise his voice to be heard over the other person speaking. He had just started a new sentence when he abruptly cut off, and the creaking from the pacing stopped with a squeak. A brief pause, and then - “Fuck!” Hux shouted, followed by a thump, and then another which sounded distinctly like a bedpost being kicked. “Fuck!  _ Fuck _ !” and a long, growled sound of frustration, slightly more muffled.

Before the tirade had even stopped, Poe had dialled a number on his phone, asking the second the recipient picked up, “Are you at the café?” A pause. “How soon can you get here?”

* * *

Hux was standing in his room, glaring at his phone, face down where he'd flung it at the floor, as if he could make it explode into a thousand tiny pieces. There was anger, yes, and regret, along with anxiety that everything his father had said had been right. Hux had kicked things and knocked over his chair and suitcase, and shouted at nothing in a way he hadn't in a while, in a way that barely matched what he knew about his normal reactions. He'd be embarrassed if he could find it in himself to  _ care _ , but he didn't; he didn't know what to do with himself except let it out. Everything was different, during these arguments with his father, and he hated they way they made him into a completely different person. Now, he just felt kind of... empty. Blank, like a page. Like he was waiting for something.

He wasn't sure how long he'd been standing there by the time Poe knocked.

“I can't...” he started to mumble, and found he didn't know what he couldn't. He wanted to cry, but that would feel even worse if he didn't know when he would stop. He wanted company, but he didn't want to try to hold himself together enough to go down to the common room or out to coffee. “Sorry, I just... go away.”

The voice that spoke was not the one he expected.

“Armie?”

Hux's brow furrowed. The voice was Ben's. Sweet, wonderful Ben, out there sounding concerned. Why was he here? Hux was a mess, why did he have to be here? Quickly, Hux tugged the sleeve of his jumper down over his hand and swiped the fabric roughly beneath his eyes with his thumb. It was rough against skin which felt raw, and he was sure it had only made his eyes redder, but it also seemed better than just doing nothing.

He'd obviously left it too long, because as he was turning to the door, Ben spoke again. “Armie, can I come in?”

Hux opened the door. There, like an oversized angel, stood Ben, all messy dark hair and worried frown, stooping even though he wasn't nearly as tall as the ceiling. Ben's mouth opened, his eyes flitting all over Hux's face even as Hux tried to stand up straight and look unaffected. Ben raised his hand. “I brought you coffee,” he said, “raspberry white choc moccachino.”

Hux looked down at the pinkish white drink held out towards him, his brain not exactly processing it. Then, with a single sniff, it was as if the floodgates opened, and his eyebrows scrunched up again as several traitorous tears rolled down his cheeks.

“Hey, hey,” Ben soothed, stepping into the room and guiding Hux to sit down on the edge of the bed, before sitting down next to him with his left arm around his shoulders, angled so their knees were brushing together. Hux didn't care to protest when Ben put the coffee into his hand and drew him into his side with his now free right arm. It was warm and protective and it felt great, especially when Ben told him, “I'm here, it's okay, Armie. I'm here,” murmuring it into his hair.

Hux could only nod and lean into him further.

Hux counted his breaths, tried to sync them with Ben's until the waves of everything he was feeling had abated. Ben's hand rubbing up and down on his arm helped as well, and he smelled of coffee and leather from the jacket he was wearing. He looked down at the drink, now clasped in his own fingers like a lifeline, and felt throat tighten a little more at the casual bit of thoughtfulness the plastic cup and its contents displayed. He hadn't had a good cry in a while, he thought; it was probably about time he got it all out, even if this wasn't exactly the way he'd have preferred.

“Thanks, Ben,” he said, his mouth feeling clumsy. He lifted the coffee and added a “Sorry about this,” before taking a sip through the straw.

“Anything for you,” Ben replied, leaning away and looking at Hux softly enough that Hux had to avert his eyes, so it didn't set him off again.

“This is good,” Hux hummed.

Ben smiled. “I popped into the shop and made it specially. The manager looked a bit confused, but it was an emergency, so...”

“What are you doing here?” Not that Hux was complaining – he was very pleased to have his comfort drink, all without having to go outside looking like a mess – but he thought not only that it was supposed to be Ben's day off, but also he didn't know Ben knew where he lived.

“Poe phoned me. He said you could do with something.” The ease with which Ben said it, like it really wasn't any problem to get a random call to bring coffee to someone who was having an emotional wobbly and then spend time comforting them, made something in Hux's chest warm. It only occurred to him for a second to be annoyed by Poe meddling in his life yet again, until he was distracted by Ben reaching up and brushing his fringe out of his eyes for him.

They locked eyes for a moment, and the way Ben's head tilted made Hux freeze in his motion to lift the coffee again. Then, Ben looked away, his lips pressing together as he looked around. “I like your room,” he said, “nice wall colour.”

Hux followed his gaze. “I think it's kind of horrid.” There were bits of the paint peeling in one top corner, and the colour was just washed out enough that Hux didn't like it.

That seemed to amuse Ben. “Well, I agree it could be a bit less flesh toned, but a pastel brightens the place up at least, without making it too harsh.”

“You're the artist,” Hux ceded, chest feeling warm again at how pleased Ben looked that Hux thought it of him.

“How about we just...” Ben said, reaching over and putting the desk chair back into an upright position. Hux wasn't proud of the fact he'd knocked all that stuff over, but Ben didn't seem to think anything of it, so he just quietly sipped his coffee. Then, he retrieved Hux's phone for him, inspecting the screen. “You've got a good case, it doesn't look broken or anything,” he noted, correctly surmising that Hux had thrown it. “Wanna tell me about it?”

Hux hesitated for a second. Was it too much, to unload it all right away?

“Tell me, and I'll make your bed for you,” Ben suggested, his tone implying he would offer at least a few times more, perhaps with increasing offers of services.

“Fine,” Hux murmured.

“Sit there,” Ben pointed at the desk chair, which Hux moved to as directed, “and wear this,” Ben shrugged off his jacket and draped it around Hux's shoulders. It was too large, but it was still warm, and Hux wasn't above clasping it closed around him like a shawl, leaving only his coffee hand sticking out. “I love that sweater on you,” (it was the yellow turtleneck) “but it is fucking cold in this room. I should have got you something warm to drink instead.”

“No!” Hux protested, “This is my favourite. I'd fight you for it.”

“And I'm sure you'd win,” Ben told him, looking around. “Sheets?”

“Suitcase,” Hux said around the straw. Things were looking up already, surrounded by Ben's warmth and comfort, watching him take care of stuff for him. He would think about it later if he needed to, but for now, he was going to enjoy the sight of Ben's back muscles shifting under his shirt as he unzipped the suitcase and found some light blue sheets.

“So what's up?” Ben had straightened up and was now beginning the process of stretching the sheet over the mattress.

Hux sighed. “My father and I don't really get along,” he began, swirling the straw around. “He doesn't agree with what I'm doing with my life and he decided that on the journey down here, he was going to spend the entire time personally berating me for every choice I've ever made.” He shrugged. “Basically, I'm a disappointment.”

“That's shitty,” Ben said firmly, with a genuine tone of surprise and offence in his voice. He didn't seem at all tentative about the opinion. “You're at Oxford, how is that disappointing?”

Hux shook his head. “He wanted me to do engineering. I applied for history instead because it was my fourth and only humanities subject and I was tired of doing what he said I had to do. It was just expected I would get into Oxford, because he and all his friends went here.” His voice grew quieter as he added, “I have no idea if he... if he's the only reason I got in at all. I try not to think about it.”

And really, it was better not to think about it, Hux had decided after a few too many nights spent sleepless and wondering if he was really worth it, thinking he was just a pawn in a corrupt system, deploring the idea of having to feel _grateful_ to his father for his place, learning about things he really loved from academics he admired.

“Well _I_ don't think you're disappointing,” Ben told him, letting a pillow he'd put in a case flop down onto the bed. “Fuck anyone who thinks that way. They're fucking wrong.”

Involuntarily, the corners of Hux's mouth twitched. “Anyway... he phoned just now and added some things he'd forgotten to say earlier. What with all that and Christmas, it's just... built up.”

Ben was now shaking the duvet down into the cover. “Was it just you and your father over the break?”

“No,” Hux said, failing to keep as much of the bitterness out of his voice as he wanted. “He had some work friends stay over, some politicians and businessmen. None of them like me much. They're all old, conservative types who don't agree with my 'lifestyle',” Hux made air quotes with one hand. “My father's wife is always there as well. We don't... get along either. I don't think she ever got over the fact I'm the child of an affair.” He hummed thoughtfully. It was a train of thought which he wasn't keen to go further down at this point. “It all sounds sadder than it is, I assure you. And besides, I'm back here now, away from all that and in walking distance of good coffee.”

“And me. If you want,” Ben added, reaching over to tuck the covers into the side of the bed. The offer was tempting, Hux thought, and he could see just the tips of Ben's ears colouring a little as the words passed his lips. “I mean, I'm great at bitching about people,” he corrected, straightening up, “and I- Ow!” Ben had stood up too far towards the sloped bit of ceiling and hit his head. In spite of himself, Hux smiled at Ben's indignance as he rubbed his head and glared at the wall. Noticing Hux's reaction, however, Ben smiled as well, his eyes looking fond in a way which Hux couldn't help but want to see again. “See? I've cheered you up already.”

“You're good at it, I'll admit,” Hux replied, chasing the last bit of the coffee around the bottom of the cup. His chest still felt a little tight, but other than that, he couldn't deny that it was really nice, having Ben bring him coffee and give him his coat and put his room in order and hold him close like he was precious. Especially that last one. “Would you like to watch something shitty on Netflix?”

Ben's eyebrows went up. “Yeah, if you... yeah.”

“Could I...” Hux began, fishing his laptop out of the box and eyeing the bed and Ben and wondering how to ask for what he wanted. “Could we..?”

Ben cocked his head, sat down on the bed and shuffled back until he was leaning on the wall. Then, he opened his arms and patted the bed next to him. Bless him, that was exactly what Hux wanted, and as he settled down next to Ben and hit play on a movie – something light hearted he would never admit to enjoying under normal circumstances – he let himself take a deep breath.

At some point, Hux felt Ben rest his head on top of his, and, if he wasn't completely mistaken, drop a kiss on his head. “There are more pillows at my place,” Ben commented when his position against the wall became too uncomfortable.

“Next time,” Hux replied without missing a beat, turning so he could sling an arm over Ben's torso. No, things weren't perfect, Hux realised – he would have to deal with the fallout from the argument with his father sooner or later, and he'd need to unpack and get back to the hell-storm of his workload – but for now, he was more than happy to ignore it all and let Ben make him feel better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Omg an update... I was writing some other things for Huxloween, and will get back to updating this one as often as possible! In the meantime, I will get back to figuring out what happens next (like a clever person, I didn't make a plot outline hahaha :I) I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and thank you to everyone who's still reading and commenting and kudoing!


	5. Be My Date

Ben was in the coffee shop a few days later, a cheery Wednesday morning with a blisteringly blue sky and the promise of lengthening days. His smiles to customers didn't feel forced today, and everything seemed just a bit lighter – he wasn't even that worried about the impending reply from the university about whether or not he'd been offered a place. There was only one reason he could think of that was making him feel like this, and that one reason was currently crossing the square which the shopfront looked out over, making his way in this direction.

Armie.

Seeing Armie sad had been horrible, really, what with the way his eyes genuinely looked like storms when they had tears in them, but Ben couldn't bring himself to regret the occurrence overall. He had been able to hold Armie close to him, bring him something to make him feel better, spend time with him, all things he really, _really_ wanted to do again. He wanted to always be there when Armie needed cheering up, someone to listen to him, and, hopefully, with his phone number firmly in Ben's phone and burned into his corneas, Ben would always be able to be that person.

Not that they had defined anything yet. It wasn't like lying in bed watching Netflix for hours could be counted as a date, not even with the way their legs had looped together by the second movie.

The door opened, and Armie stepped through with Poe following, an energy about him that was possibly the epitome of 'tagging along to be a nuisance'. There were two customers ahead of them in the line, and Ben contented himself with just nodding at Armie's casual hand wave as he took their orders (criminally mundane orders, in Ben's opinion, but it was possible that Armie's outlandish requests had ruined normal coffee for him). But, eventually, they were gone, and Armie was standing in front of him.

He was right there, in his nice coat and green sweater and satchel crammed with books and with his hair all nicely quiffed in a way that reminded Ben of feathers, or one of those golden monkeys, and all these fancy words and descriptions were whizzing around Ben's head while precisely nothing came out of his mouth. “Hi, ginger snap,” he managed after a few attempts.

“Hi,” Armie replied, sounding happy but also at a slight loss.

They just looked at each other for a minute more. Mercifully, no more customers had entered the shop, but Ben could feel the time running out before one did, like an egg-timer telling him how long he had left to speak to the the object of his affections.

Poe finally felt it time to intervene, hands in his pockets. “Ben. Coffee.”

“Oh, right,” yeah, that snapped him out of it, “what can I get you?”

A boring for them order today as well, Ben noted. That was good; it meant Armie was doing okay. “And, um...” Armie added on once Poe had stopped talking.

Ben paused in taking the cups down from their shelf, eyebrows raised, watched as Poe turned to Armie expectantly and Armie shoved him lightly until he gave Ben a _look_ and wandered off to look at some of the stock art on the walls.

Armie took a deep breath, tapping his fingers on the counter in front of him. “There's a formal coming up. A, uh... a formal dinner. I was wondering if you would want to come...” He straightened up, banishing the nervousness in something that was strangely – attractively – like a curtain of confidence falling down across his face. “Be my date.”

Ben grinned. “That sounds like an order.”

“It might well be.”

“You've taken some advice from all those Roman generals you've read about, then?”

Armie nodded once. “Besides, you've seen me having an emotion, I can't just let you go.” Then, he smiled a little. “So you want to? And you'll be free?”

“I'd rather obliterate my schedule than miss it,” Ben replied, just as the door opened, signalling the approaching end to their conversation. “Text me the details? How long have I got to prepare?”

“A week,” Armie replied, getting out his phone and blanching when the lock screen came up. “Shit, I'm going to be late.”

“Coffee on the double,” Ben confirmed, flicking on the machine and asking over the hiss, “what is it today?”

“Athenian democracy.”

“Interesting,” Ben finished the latte and popped a lid on the cup, sliding it over the counter and giving the most charming smile he could muster. “You'll have to tell me all about it.”

Armie's fingers brushed over his as he took the cup and turned to go, throwing over his shoulder with his own smile, “I'll text you.”

Instead of smiling himself silly like a lovesick fool, Ben mastered his expression and took the next customer's order, turning the conversation over in his head. He finished making the rest of the orders on the list, including Poe's.

“So you're going, right?” said friend asked, sitting at one of the tables near the counter so he could continue talking to Ben. There were no more customers coming in for the moment, at least.

“Did you tell him he should ask me?”

Poe shook his head, swallowing a sip of his coffee and humming. “Came up with this one all on his own. He's better at planning this kind of stuff than you, at least.”

“Thanks dude,” Ben said, coming around to collect up some of the abandoned cups on tables people had vacated.

“You should go, it's gonna be fancy. Well,” Poe mulled that over, “not as fancy as like, a full on ball, but still kind of fancy.”

Ben frowned. “ _You're_ not going, are you?”

“Nah,” Poe said, and Ben's thoughts about it all started slowly to tick over into nerves – he had never even got it together to ask anyone out to prom, and a dinner at Oxford seemed like a big step up, especially if he wasn't even going to have Poe as backup. “It's a history department thing,” Poe clarified. Then, a moment later, correctly surmising that Ben's confidence was wavering, “No, you've totally got to go, Hux will be crushed if you don't.”

“I want to, I just...” instead of replying, Ben just wiped down the table. “What if I go and then he realises that actually I'm completely not his type and I'm awkward and I don't fit in with all the smart history people and...”

Poe was waving a hand at Ben, shushing him before he had even finished speaking. “I've heard the way he talks about you, and, trust me, you have nothing to worry about.”

Ben sighed. “Poe, I don't even have anything to wear.” He'd left everything even vaguely suited to this type of event back at his parents' house.

Poe shrugged. “Then I guess we're going shopping.”

* * *

Ben was nervous.

He had successfully found nice clothes that weren't too expensive – he would still have to ask his mom for extra money later on, but she would probably understand – with Poe's help in dragging him around the shopping centre and high street, and lending him a tie. Now, he was standing outside the building Armie had told him to be at – a serious, stone-fronted college that he didn't know the name of – trying not to look too awkward. He fiddled with the buttons at the cuff of his shirt and tried not to be too cold as he glanced up and down the dark sidewalk.

They had been texting the past week or so – Armie to tell Ben important things like where the place was, what time, Ben replying with memes that he thought Armie might find funny and shooting off what he hoped were thoughtful 'good morning's – which had been nice, and Armie had come into the shop every day, as always, staying for longer and longer each time until he inevitably frowned at his phone with a “Fuck, I'm late again,” and rushed out. Needless to say, Ben was very much looking forward to spending some time with him where neither of them were interrupted by work.

It would help if Armie was here, though, and if Ben wasn't early to make sure he didn't miss anything. It was making him itch to do something to get the nervous energy out, take it out on a punching bag, maybe, not that it was an option at that moment. Luckily, that feeling, along with the worry that he'd got the place all wrong, was relieved with his next glance down the street.

Then, it immediately placed other worries in his head, because Armie looked _amazing_. Gone were the soft, coloured sweaters and mountains of books, in their place a crisp, navy blue suit with gold accents that he inhabited like he was born into it, accentuating his slim frame and flaming hair and good posture in a way Ben was surprised he'd never noticed before. He had to stop his mouth falling open; _this_ was Hux, son of a pre-eminent businessman and super-clever historian who could command attention with one astute look. The gold accents glistened as Hux stepped into the light spreading just around the front of the building.

“You look amazing.” The words were out of Ben's mouth by the time he realised he probably should have said something else first. Oh well, this wasn't his worst case of blurting something out before offering an actual greeting.

Hux's mouth formed a little _o_ , as he smoothed down the front of his suit – and really, how did he get it to look so comfortable like that, Ben's own jacket was protesting just at being off the hanger – and nodded. “You also look great. This was all an elaborate plot to get you out of that barista shirt.”

“You could have just asked.”

He frowned a little, pairing it with an amused half-smile as he said, “I doubt your manager would have taken kindly to me ordering you to strip in the middle of the cafe. Not that the shirt leaves much to the imagination. Did they make you wear one that tight on purpose?”

“That is a possibility.”

Hux looked Ben over once more. “May I?” he asked, raising his hands. Ben couldn't figure out what he was going to do, but he nodded anyway, suppressing a shiver when Hux's fingers hooked just under the lapels of the jacket and flattened them down each in turn, a tiny pout of concentration on his face. Ben coloured a bit; he thought he'd triple checked every detail of his clothes before he left his apartment and then again while he waited, so to be caught out by Hux, especially when he looked so great, was a little embarrassing. (In reality, he needn't have worried, as Hux was only using it as an excuse to touch Ben, mesmerised by just how well the suit jacket he was wearing emphasised the broadness of his chest.) “There,” he said finally, pulling his attention back up to Ben's face. “Shall we go in?”

“After you,” Ben gestured in front of them to the door, subconsciously bringing his hand up just on the small of Hux's back and then feeling a brief wave of anxiety as he worried if that was too familiar. Hux didn't seem to mind at all, heading through the doors with only a brief hesitation.

Inside, it was just as Ben had been expecting, and yet still daunting beyond anticipation. He'd been into various college halls before on the open days, and, although he hadn't seen this one specifically, they all had similarly styled tall wooden beamed ceilings and stained glass windows. Tonight were set out two long, wooden tables at either side of the room leading to the high table at the far end, to leave the central floor clear. People were milling about in roughly the same level of dress as Ben, some with people who looked like partners, drinks in hand. He was still looking around, hoping he didn't look too conspicuous when Hux returned and handed him a flute of something sparkling and alcoholic. “Cheers,” he added, clinking their glasses together.

Ben tried to offer him a smile as he took a careful sip of the drink. It tasted fancy.

“Are you alright?” Hux asked a second later, hand starting up before eventually settling on Ben's wrist, a grounding touch. “Was this way too much for a first date?”

“No! No, don't worry,” Ben assured him, taking the measure of the room again, the low buzz of chatter cocooning the sound a bit. “There're just lots of new people is all.”

Hux made a dismissive noise, turning to look at them himself and leaning his shoulder into Ben's in a way that felt thoroughly conspiratorial and affirming at the same time. “They're very boring, mostly. Just be yourself and you'll dazzle them. Shall I introduce you to a few? It'll give me the perfect excuse to show you off.”

Ben couldn't stop his smile or the slightly giddy flip of his stomach as Hux said that.

It turned out that yes, mostly the rest of the students there were just students, exactly like Poe and his friends and Armie, although less cute or nice to talk to. Some of them were interested in where he was from, his gap year plans, but it was all small talk of the kind Ben didn't care for at all, and he was happy to let Hux steer the conversation.

“Not so scary, then?” he asked as Mitaka wandered away to find Thanisson before the food was brought out.

“No,” Ben agreed, “it sort of reminds me of the events my mom took me along to sometimes.”

“Oh? What does she do?”

“She's a senator,” he said at exactly the moment Hux chose to take a sip of his drink.

Hux made a small choking noise as his eyebrows shot up, and he quickly swallowed his sip, his voice just a little hoarse as he exclaimed, “Shit, really?”

Ben nodded, thrown by Hux's reaction. “Didn't you say your father is friends with lots of politicians?”

“Yes, but that's-” Hux spluttered, opening his hand as if gesturing to two different, invisible options set out in front of him, “that's not the _senate_. Who is she?”

“Senator Organa,” he replied, trying not to laugh at the way Hux's eyes widened almost comically. It struck him as strange it hadn't come up yet, but why would it? Everyone back at school had already known, and it wasn't like he'd gone around announcing it even then.

“Oh my god, you look like her as well.” Now Hux's eyes were flitting over Ben's face, appraising it in a new light, and it would have made Ben uncomfortable if it were anyone else, but instead he let himself bask in the way Hux's greeny-gray eyes focussed upon him unreservedly, even in a room full of other, more glamorous people.

“You know what she looks like?”

Now Hux's eyes narrowed, as he made a drawn out _ehhh_ sound. “My father has had a few rants about her specifically. There was this whole inquiry with some business partners of his a few years ago and...” he waved his hand and dropped his head, trying to shake it away. “It doesn't matter.”

“Hey,” Ben touched Hux's elbow lightly, prompting him to face him again. “I'm not about to judge any of that, and she won't either when you meet her.” The second he'd said it, his mouth clicked closed. Shit, he definitely shouldn't have got into _that_ so soon. “As long as you agree not to judge me on a family history of career politicians anyway,” he added with a nervous chuckle.

“If they're anything like you, I shouldn't have a problem,” Hux replied just as some vaguely important looking people entered and took their places at the head table, which appeared to be the signal for everyone else to find their seats.

Ben and Hux ended up a third of the way down the table on the far right of the room, surrounded by other people from Hux's history course. Mitaka, Thanisson, Rodinon, Unamo were all re-introduced, and as the food was brought out, Ben let himself sink into listening to their chatter about everything from their lectures to other upcoming events to what was on the news, thankfully nothing particularly heavy or exclusionary to Ben, and he found himself relaxing as he was able to laugh along with the funny anecdotes, and make additions to what was being said.

What was nice, as well, was to see Hux interacting with them. He was a little different towards them than he had been with Ben at the cafe, more serious, more cynical, his wit more cutting, but there were moments when everyone else would be laughing or talking between them about something else, and he would meet Ben's eyes over his glass of wine, letting him know that the Armie he knew was still fully there. They weren't entirely different people, there was only his public face and what he kept separate, showing only to Ben.

At some point without Ben noticing, talk turned to theses and next year, and then suddenly Unamo was turning to him asking, “Didn't you say you were on your gap year?”

“Oh, uh, yeah,” Ben replied, shifting in his chair and fiddling with the stem of his glass.

“Do you know where you're going yet?” Thanisson asked, before adding a quick, “assuming you're going to uni at all. It's not, like, everything.”

“I should be,” he confirmed, “for art. I actually... I applied to Oxford too, so.” To that came a round of questions – which college, how did the interview go, why he chose this university and then a subsequent revelation that they knew Poe through his extensive reputation too – all of which Hux stayed quiet for, since he already knew the answers, regarding him coolly.

“Good luck, man,” Rodinon said eventually, when their curiosity was satisfied. “When do you get to find out about the offer?”

Mitaka frowned. “Isn't it soon?”

Ben nodded, a ducking movement that let him avert his eyes away from Hux, whose gaze he'd seen flick sharply over to Mitaka when he spoke. “This week.”

“Oh, wow. Soon,” Unamo said, setting down her glass with a clink.

“The ones in the US are only gonna get back to me later,” he let out a nervous half-chuckle, now examining the bottom of a water jug on the table in front of him, “I don't know if any of them'll give me a place, though, it's hard to know what they want.”

“They would be insane to reject you. Your art is amazing.”

Ben raised his eyes to meet the green-gray ones facing directly across from him, set into a face which showed no doubt in the words its owner had just spoken. “You think so?” he asked Hux.

“I do.” Hux sounded completely serious.

“You've only seen my sketchbook.”

“Yes, and it was fantastic,” Hux nodded his head, as if agreeing with himself, before turning to the others and telling them seriously, “He'd drawn this – what was it, a throne room? - and it was as if the light parts were glowing, even though it was only in monochrome pencil.”

“Hey, where was all that energy when you proofread my last assignment?” Thanisson joked after a brief moment.

“It was off looking at work that was actually good,” Hux replied with a wry smile, taking a sip of wine as everyone, including Thanisson, laughed – not a dynamic Ben was exactly used to, but it seemed to suit the group well.

“Touché,” Thanisson said.

The conversation moved on, but Ben kept turning it over in his head. Armie had sounded so genuine and serious when he'd talked about his art, and it made Ben worried that he couldn't live up to that. It all kept coming round to that central anxiety that he wouldn't get in, which was bad enough on its own without the extra worry that if he wasn't good enough to get in here, he surely wouldn't be able to get in anywhere else he'd applied either. He was worried about his exam scores, which had been a bit low, and worried that his portfolio wouldn't make up for it.

Along the way, some music started up, not catchy pop tunes, but more some chill, bopping tones that didn't clash with the tone of the evening. Following that, people started leaving, and Ben bid them goodbye on autopilot, finally realising as Mitaka left that it was just him and Hux remaining at their part of the table, a few other people still sat at other places round the hall and some chatting on the central floor, swaying to the music in smaller groups.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Hux said, letting his head fall to the side and moving his hand from his now-empty wine glass to Ben's own hand where it rested on the table between them.

Ben sighed, looking at the place where Hux's long fingers were draped over his own. “Just thinking about whether it'll be a rejection letter or not.”

“I meant what I said. They would be mad not to accept you.”

“That's sweet of you, but...”

“What?” A rustle of fabric as Hux leaned across the table towards Ben, a compassionate crease to his brow.

“I really enjoyed tonight,” Ben told him, taking his hand properly and running a thumb over his knuckles. “If I have to go back to America then... isn't that it? For this?”

Hux was quiet for a long moment. “These are deep thoughts, Ben. Next time I'm just taking you to a movie.”

“But what if-”  
“Then it's a fling,” Hux said, shaking his head, exasperation creeping into his tone, but assuring Ben that it wasn't towards him when he added, “I still wouldn't regret it. And you never know what we could work out.” He squeezed Ben's hand. “Worry about that when it happens.”

He took a deep breath and smiled as best he could, knowing that the anxiety wouldn't just disappear. “So... maybe I should be taking you to the movie? If you still want to see me, that is.”

“Of course I would,” Hux said softly, still looking at Ben like he was trying to discern what was happening in his head and decide what to say to it. He surprised Ben slightly when he announced, “Let's go back to yours tonight.”

“You want to?”

He nodded. “Let me grab some stuff from my room, you can say hi to Poe, and then we'll go. How far away is it?”

“Like, twenty minutes walk from your college.”

“Perfect.”

They stood, tucked their chairs in and headed out, Hux reaching out and tangling their fingers together just as they crossed the threshold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's this? Another chapter! Wow! I've had this written for a few weeks now, but originally it was going to be at least half as long again, and I haven't finished the second part just yet, so I've cut to the chase and posted this! Thanks for reading and kudoing and commenting, and I hope you like it! I'm on tumblr [@pompous-hat](https://pompous-hat.tumblr.com/)


	6. Ben's Apartment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A mini follow on from the previous chapter, what Ben and Armie do with the rest of their evening

Hux was noisily speeding up the last few creaky steps to his room when Poe's door flew open, already halfway through saying, “Was it that bad? I can have words with Ben, if you want, I have his mother on speed-dial and-”

“What?” Hux asked as he reached the landing and unlocked his door, silencing Poe with one quizzical look which the suit turned sharp and imperious. “No, it was good.” With that, he disappeared into his room, the door swinging shut behind him, leaving Poe aimlessly on the landing until finally he noticed Ben, who had been a few stairs behind Hux.

“We're going back to mine,” Ben filled him in, taking off his borrowed tie and tossing it back up to Poe, whose eyebrows rose in surprise as he caught it.

“Oh... I just thought, what with the marching up the stairs... on a warpath...” he grinned. “Nice.”

“Hey,” Ben gave him a look. He was ninety percent sure the evening's remaining activities would include only some cozy snuggling that would pass an inspection for a 'Teen' rating. “It's not like that, we're just gonna-”

“Sure, if you say so,” Poe added, leaning back on his door frame, and moved on to some idle chat about whether Ben had seen the new movie trailer he had been begging him to watch for the past week (he hadn't) and proceeding to fill him in on the background lore about how it was adapted from the book and so on and on and on. “Come on, dude, if you don't watch it, who am I supposed to talk to about it?”

Ben shrugged. “Finn? It seems like he gets all that stuff better than I do.”

Armie's door swung open, and the man himself stepped out, redressed in dark jeans and his black sweater, an empty looking backpack slung over one shoulder. “Sorry, am I interrupting?”

“Not at all,” Poe told him, before pointing his finger up and down Ben. “Now you kind of look like a bodyguard.”

“Gotta protect the emperor,” he replied, straightening up and turning his attention to Armie, shed of his Hux-suit, but still captivating.

“Not sure he needs protecting,” Poe muttered, turning back into his room. “You two have fun, now. Don't do anything I wouldn't.”

“That's rather an extensive list,” Armie remarked as the door clicked closed, followed immediately by Poe's muffled voice.

“Shuddup, Hugs.”

Armie huffed out a half-laugh and descended the stairs to Ben's level. “Got everything?” Ben asked, and Armie nodded.

“I quite like the idea of you being my bodyguard, you know,” he told him, slipping his hand back into Ben's as they reached the ground floor and stepped back out into the night, Armie shoving the door closed behind him until the mechanical lock stopped buzzing. “A knight in shining armour. We could get you a sword.”

Ben chuckled. “I'd probably end up destroying everything.”

“Maybe, but you'd look good doing it.”

The night was made light by the street lights and the moon as Ben led the way out of the city centre to the residential areas where his small apartment could be found. The sky was icily clear with just a tinge of blue to it, and their breath created huge plumes in the air before them, blurring the colours like tiny explosions through which to walk. It was late, so the streets were empty, but they walked close together anyway, hands brushing, and then even closer still when Armie quietly said, “I'm cold,” so Ben slipped an arm around his waist and pulled him in to share whatever heat they could for the short time the trip took.

Ben's apartment was the third floor of a six-apartment block, and he punched in his code and led Armie up the dark staircase quickly, chuckling and helping him up when he missed a step and immediately threatened to demolish the entire building. Ben opened his door and flicked on the entrance light, bathing them in a warm yellow.

The place consisted of one bedroom, one bathroom, and a living room and kitchen with a half-wall separating them. It had been going for surprisingly cheap with furniture already included, and, although the wifi was patchy to say the least, Ben rather liked it. It even managed to look cosy and lived-in, cluttered with stuff in a particularly Ben way.

Armie shucked off his shoes and made a beeline for the desk by the window, arguably the best ordered space in the room even though it looked like a mess of papers and pencils and stacks of miscellaneous things. Ben's casual sketchbook was in the clear bit at the centre, his larger one to its left, and larger still pieces he was working on propped up against the wall just on the floor next to the desk. His old graphics tablet was on the right side of the table, and the laptop was closed on the coffee table, powered off and hidden from Armie's ready scrutiny of his digital art, but Ben could already see him tilting his head to figure out what the large pieces of art were.

Eventually, he seemed to have figured that out, and instead placed one tall-fingered hand on the sketchbook. He half-turned back to Ben. “May I look?”

A wave of anxiety ran through Ben for a moment; it wasn't that he didn't like people looking at his work, but he always worried when they did, and the stakes were so high with Armie... “Yeah,” he said, squashing the anxiety. It was pointless to feel that way. Probably. “Sure.”

Ben moved around, switching on some lamps in the living room for softer light as Armie leafed through the book with an occasional creak of the binding. Ben couldn't help watching him out of the corner of his eye; the picture of him standing there, one delicate hand manoeuvring the pages, relaxed and comfortable and like this was exactly meant to be... it was a picture Ben wanted to keep.

“Do you want a drink?” he finally asked Armie, making to head to the kitchen.

“Who's Kylo Ren?” Armie countered, attention not wavering from the page.

Ben started, cheeks colouring a little as he crossed over to see what Armie was looking at. The image was one of the series he had been working on of an empire at the end of the galaxy, this one depicting a single, solitary ruler on the throne of a ruined temple, his blood red sword still clutched in his hand as he looked out of the page from under dark hair, a glittering sky taking the place of the crumbling ceiling. At the bottom right was his signature scribbled in thick dark pencil, the pseudonym he used when working on less professional images, _Kylo Ren_ , which his parents had disdained when he'd suggested he might change his real name to it – _anything_ to get out from underneath the Organa shadow – but which he'd never quite been able to let go of.

“It's what I sign my work with,” he explained, carefully taking the sides of the book and flicking through the pages quickly to find something he was happier with showing off. (Armie wished he would go through those earlier pages more slowly, because the images he saw – starships, machinery blended into the organic, war and light, faces of anger and vacant tranquillity and grief and victory – in such contrasting styles of simplicity and intricacy, he wanted to study them, but then Ben was halting on a new page.) “This is the kind of thing I sent in with the portfolio,” he explained, pointing to the detailed picture.

Armie frowned in concentration as he studied it. He was comfortably in Ben's space, and his tone was intimate, as if there were need to be confidential about their conversation. Ben liked that. “It reminds me of... was it called _The Nightmare_? The one with the demon and the woman?”

“I know the one,” Ben nodded. “And, yeah... I guess it does. Romanticism, Gothic imagery, maybe some stuff like Bosch are all kind of my go-to inspiration for these ones. There are a couple of albums with amazing cover art that all get chucked in as well and then...” he gestured at the piece, the mix of organic shapes with more geometric patterns coming together to form a meditating figure and a sky full of demons around him, black and dark red colours splashed across it. “That's kind of what comes out.”

“It's all very shadowy.” Armie faced him now, but didn't move away, arms casually crossed and brushing Ben's.

Ben shrugged. “I don't mean to make them like that, but the darkness creeps in any way. I like what it does to the pieces. It makes them almost...”

“Seductive,” Armie whispered, reaching down and running the tip of his finger over the blank bit of page beneath the main drawing. “I understand.”

Ben looked at the picture a moment more. There had never been that many people who understood what he meant – his parents and uncles had thought his art a bit weird, as had his teachers, only his small friend group had shown any interest at all in the themes rather than the artistic skill – but Armie did, and he seemed to like it. It was really nice. He wanted to make more things that Armie liked.

Eventually, he sighed, went back to his earlier question. “Do you want a drink?”

“Do you have tea?” Armie replied, glancing around the room properly now, taking in the sofa and coffee table to the right and the bedroom door.

Ben nodded and headed through to the kitchen, hitting the kettle and grabbing some mugs before holding his cold fingers a few inches over the plume of steam escaping out of the kettle's spout, in an attempt to warm them. He could hear Armie wandering around in the other room, socked footfalls on the wood floor, and called out, “How do you take it?”

“One sugar and the tiniest splash of milk, please,” was called back, followed by a quick, “where's your bathroom?”

Leaning back around the wall so he could see Armie, Ben pointed to the left, to a door. “Through the bedroom.” Armie disappeared through it, having noticed it on the left again, and Ben returned to get the kitchen to begin the process of properly getting out teabags and sugar.

He poured the hot water into the mugs, strained the tea bags, carefully added a splash of milk which he judged the amount of to be 'the tiniest', and was just turning back to the fridge to put the milk away when Armie materialised around the corner, wearing nothing but his boxers, socks, and one of Ben's black band t-shirts, depicting an arty representation of the band with large, red letters splashed over the chest.

Ben's brain short circuited.

Not only was it one of his band shirts, it was _his_ band shirt, his art, his persona on the front; it was the _Knights of Ren_ shirt, one of the few he and some friends had made for the band they'd managed to keep together for the whole of junior year before the amount of school work picked up and the stress had made it fall apart. A flash of excited possessiveness flared in his chest, and his hand clenched around the handle of the milk jug.

“I stole your shirt,” Armie informed him as if Ben had somehow been able to not notice, heading over to where he was standing blankly in the open door of the fridge, plucking the milk out of his hands, putting it onto the shelf and closing the door again with the _schlorp_ of the seal closing. The little smirk on his lips told Ben that Armie knew exactly what he was doing as he added, “I hope you don't mind. Is this mine?” He pointed to a mug and picked it up without waiting for confirmation.

“Mind? Ginger snap,” Ben said, his gaze tracking down Armie's body unbidden. The shirt, which was several sizes too broad for him, fell just below his butt, and it not only made him look soft and ruffled and adorable, but also made his legs look impossibly long. After the sharply tailored suit, it was like sartorial whiplash, but as Armie cupped the mug in his hands and lifted it to blow away the vapour, Ben was reminded of how, months ago, he had mentally reprimanded himself for wondering what Armie would look like drowning in one of his shirts. Now, it seemed silly to have worried; the fantasy never could have lived up to the reality.

Stepping forward, he found he couldn't resist putting his hands on Armie's waist, feeling how the worn fabric bunched up over the bone of his hip. Armie tilted his head back, up to face Ben a little, his throat bobbing as he whispered, “Will you kiss-”

Ben didn't have it in him to let him finish, ducking his own head down and pressing a kiss to Armie's lips, which were smooth and warm and tasted like the sip of tea he'd just taken. One of them made a sound, something halfway between satisfied and desperate, and Ben's mouth opened as Armie applied more pressure. There was a small _thunk_ as the mug Armie was holding was put down on the counter again, and soon he was tugging at the lapels on Ben's jacket, pulling him down further into the kiss.

When they finally they pulled away to breathe, foreheads resting against each other, Armie mused, “So, you really like the shirt,” smoothing out the crinkles he'd created in Ben's jacket.

“Very much.” Armie looked great in it, all while Ben himself was still wearing the dumb, cheap suit. He wanted to take it off, chuck it over the back of his messy clothes chair back in his room and go back to kissing Armie, dipping his fingers just under the hemline of the shirt, maybe even messing up his hair. “I feel overdressed.”

Armie cocked his head, a glint in his eye as he slipped his fingers down to rest on Ben's stomach, making it flutter and hooking into the space just under a button. “Well, there's no hurry.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What they do next is up to you...  
> A little follow on from the previous chapter! I had originally intended this to be part of that chapter, but the editting scissors came out and chopped it up a bit different.  
> The kind of art Ben is referring to on stuff like album covers was partly stuff like [this](https://www.instagram.com/zbigniewmbielak/) by Zbigniew Bielak, whose art I think is truly awesome.  
> You can find me on tumblr [@pompous-hat](https://pompous-hat.tumblr.com/).


	7. The Letter From The University

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the final week before Ben gets his reply from the university.

Over the next week, things both changed and they didn't. Hux still came into the cafe, as usual, but the extra kisses were nice. Ben could remember practically everything that happened in an itemized list, hyper-aware of the passing of time as he counted down the days until the letter would come confirming or denying his acceptance to the university.

* * *

On the first day, Ben made Armie breakfast and they dozed around in pyjamas until he had to walk Armie back to his college room so he could head to his lecture later in the day. Armie warned him that he would have to study more over the next few days to make up for lost time, and Ben told him his diligence was extremely cute. Armie glared at him, but stood up on his tiptoes to press a kiss to Ben's lips, something that Ben had decided he would never get enough of if he got it for a thousand years. At that very moment, Poe had opened his door, audibly panicked about interrupting a “moment”, and closed the door again with a muffled, “Sorry. Nothing says you _have_ to do it in public.”

On the way out of the college again, Ben was pretty sure he passed one of the professors who had interviewed him. She didn't recognise him, and, try as he might, the sense of anticipatory unease the recognition gave him wouldn't fade.

* * *

The second day, Ben was on the late shift. He'd brought his sketchbook, but something about the raven he was shading just wasn't coming out right. The door creaked as Armie came in, clutching a bunch of books, but looking reassuringly calm. “Hi,” he said as he approached his usual table and set the books down.

“Hey,” Ben replied, frowning down at the bird picture. He flipped the book around so it was Armie's way up on the counter, saying, “Does this look right to you?” and flicking on the coffee machine.

Armie approached and appraised it. “I think it looks bloody impressive,” he said after a moment. “Why?”

Ben popped the jug of milk under the steam wand and shook his head. “There's something wrong with it. I don't know...” If he couldn't even draw a bird right, how did he expect to get into _any_ art school? He had to make sure it was perfect, or-

“I just think you haven't finished it yet,” Armie replied earnestly, sensing Ben's concern. “Come here.” Ben obeyed, leaving the machine to buzz away as he stood directly across from him over the counter. Armie leaned over the broad surface and gave him a quick kiss, his lips still cold from the outside. “It's nice to see you.”

Ben smiled, incorrect raven instantly forgotten. “And you, sugar lips.”

* * *

Day three, the late shift again. Today had been busy, and there were mountains of washing up to get done in the back, which kept Ben busy and mostly away from Armie, who was entrenched in a thick looking volume about the Roman Empire again. Unfortunately, the hypnotic motions of washing mug after mug and teaspoon after teaspoon gave Ben plenty of time to think; plenty of time to worry about the letter. He had been frowning so much the past few days, he thought he was actually developing a headache from it, muttering to himself about things he should have said during the interview as he stared into the slowly dirtying water.

“Ben,” came a greeting from behind him. He turned back to face the speaker, soap suds still on his left arm and hand, which was holding a teacup.

Armie was standing in the arch between the kitchen and the serving area, holding a yellow mug from his finished latte. He was wearing his nice yellow sweater again today, the one that made him look like he was straight out of a chic winter clothes modelling campaign.

“I'm probably not meant to be back here,” he said.

“It's fine,” Ben replied, more touched that Armie didn't care about following these rules between them being together, despite how much of a stickler he was for following others.

Armie approached, setting his mug down on the counter with the rest of the dirty dishes, cutlery and mugs which were yet to be cleaned. “I'm really sorry, but I have to go and sleep,” he said, slowly sliding his arms around Ben's waist and pulling himself in for a hug that he didn't seem too worried about Ben's soapy inability to return. “I've an early lecture tomorrow morning.” He leaned up and placed a kiss on the corner of Ben's jaw. “You'll be alright?”

Ben nodded, gave a small smile. “Totally. Sleep well.”

“Okay. Text me when you get home,” Armie replied, drawing away to leave slowly enough that his touch trailed over Ben's back until the very last moment.

* * *

Day four was his final late shift of this week. There were still a few people leaving when Armie arrived, and as such, Ben got to be out on the floor with him for a little while. There was still a large pile of books, but it was so nice to chat with Armie again during clearing, his voice soothing what were quickly becoming Ben's frayed nerves. This evening, Armie showed Ben his sleep schedule – yes, he had a sleep schedule written out into a grid in the front of his notebook – and discussed the exciting essay he was currently planning.

The highlight of the evening was that when they were the only two left and Ben caught Armie clasping his latte tightly to warm his fingers, Ben was able to take his hands in his own, kiss his knuckles, and then close his palms over them for a little while until Armie had to go back to his ridiculous notes. Ben had enjoyed the way Armie's expression had melted into a smile, as if that had been warmed too.

* * *

On the fifth day – which was actually still the fourth as far as Ben's shifts were concerned – Ben had the job of handing over to the other staff before the mid-morning rush of customers came in earnest. Unfortunately, the day started out busily before he was able to get going, and getting everything sorted took longer than he'd hoped, so that by the time he left, he was exhausted and it was nearly eleven.

Like a zombie, dead to the world, he trudged back to his apartment and let himself in on autopilot before just sinking down onto the sofa, trying to gather the energy to go and shower before passing into the land of sleep. Just as he was about to give in to the comfy pull of the sofa cushions, there was a knock on the door.

Shambling over, Ben opened the thing to find Armie standing in front of him, bag slung over his shoulder and holding a tin of cookies from the special cookie place in the covered market by the High Street. Quickly, Armie's expression changed from one of bright greeting to one of concern. “Oh darling,” he said, the endearment unexpected but lovely, “are you okay?”

Ben sighed. His heels hurt from standing for too long, his hands felt raw from how long and how often he had been washing things over the past few days, and his sleep had been somewhat disturbed by the ever-present anxiety he was having about the acceptance or rejection letter. The frown-headache was still there. He shrugged. “Just tired, I think.”

Armie lifted his hand to Ben's forehead, feeling his temperature with a hand that was just on the delightfully cool side of cold. “You're sure you're not coming down with something?”

Ben shrugged again.

“Can I come in?” Armie asked, already stepping forward. Ben wasn't about to say no, so instead just wandered back in, leaving Armie to close the door behind him.

“You haven't even taken your apron off,” Hux noted, setting down the cookie tin on the table and coming forward to undo the tie at Ben's front, pulling them from around his hips and gently guiding the neck strap off over his head. Folding it with imperious, efficient motions, Hux looked him over and ordered, “Go and take a hot shower and I will sort some things out here.”

Ben nodded and complied, letting himself go through the motions of getting undressed while the water heated up, leaving his clothes in a pile on the floor, safe in the knowledge that Hux was taking care of everything like he'd said. The hot spray was nice, running relaxingly over his tight shoulder muscles as he stepped into it. For some god-forsaken reason, the shower-head was fitted into a place in the wall a couple of inches lower down than he was tall, but today it suited him well, as he didn't have the wherewithal to wash and dry his hair, and the thought of going to sleep with it wet just seemed so uncomfortable.

The water – or perhaps the promise of some sleep with Armie there – revived him to the point that, when he heard the creak of floorboards in his room, he was able to pull himself together and squeeze some of the gel soap onto his hand and get done the actual 'washing' part of having a shower. When finally he got out, he wrapped a fuzzy blue towel around his waist and emerged into his room to find Armie laying a clean set of pyjamas onto the foot of the bed, which had been miraculously made, and the curtains drawn. There was a fresh glass of water to the side of the bed that Ben had taken the other night when Armie had stayed over.

“Get into those,” Hux indicated the pyjamas and walked out, quietly closing the door behind him.

Ben towelled off. The clean fabric of the clothes was so soft on his skin. When Armie knocked on the door again, Ben found himself just standing, running his hands over the shirt over and over because the sensation was so nice. “Come in,” he mumbled.

Armie entered, this time carrying a tray Ben hadn't known he owned, laden with two mugs – a tea and a coffee, judging by the smell – and the cookies he'd bought with side plates. “Here,” he said, going over and making some room on the cluttered set of drawers so he could put the tray down. “I made you some-”

Ben didn't quite let Armie finish the sentence before he was sinking into his arms, tucking his nose into the crook of his neck and inhaling the scent of his detergent – dark green sweater today – his deodorant, his everything. He was so nice and warm and _here_ , and he'd made tea, and Ben wanted to show how much he appreciated that. Armie, for his part, put his arms around Ben in return, his right hand resting at the top of his nape, gently massaging for a few long, blissful moments before he said, “Why don't you get into bed?”

Ben hummed and nodded, drawing back.

“Is there anything else I can get?”

He collated his thoughts as he climbed under the covers. “Something for a headache,” he said, wincing as his jostling motion stirred the hybrid anxiety-exhaustion headache back into life. “Bathroom cabinet.”

Armie bustled out and then back in again, a sheet of push capsules in one hand and Ben's discarded clothes in the other, which he deposited in the underutilised clothes hamper without a second thought. “You're meant to take these with food,” he instructed, handing them to Ben to start popping out. “Luckily, I brought cookies, because I,” he retrieved the tray and came around to sit on the other side of the bed with it, settling back against the headboard, “am the best.”

“You are,” Ben replied, downing two capsules with the help of the glass of water. Armie really had thought of everything. He _was_ the best.

The cookie tin clanked as it opened, and Armie fished out some dark, chocolate cookies with giant lumps of gooey white chocolate inside them, popping two on a plate and handing it to Ben. “Be careful of the crumbs,” he added, to which Ben hummed, balancing the plate to catch any as he shoved the first cookie in his mouth. He made a sound of satisfaction; they were still warm. Armie must have gotten them specially.

The tea really hit the spot as well, and, warm and having eaten something, Ben was finding himself dropping off more and more. He rearranged his pillows – he hadn't been lying about having way more comfy ones than Armie did – and slid down in bed, noticing as he did so that Armie was still dressed in the clothes he'd arrived in, as if to leave, lacking only his shoes. “Are you staying?” Ben mumbled into the duvet near Armie's hip, looking up at his where he was sat against the headboard, gentle light from the corner lamp playing off his features.

“Of course,” he assured him with a smile.

Ben hummed contentedly.

“I have some books with me to read,” Armie continued, reaching over and grabbing one out of his bag, which Ben guessed was on the floor next to that side of the bed.

“Okay.” Honestly, Ben would like nothing more than to be wrapped up with Armie properly in bed with him right now, but it was still early enough that there was no way Armie would want to sleep yet. “No have lectures or stuff?”

“Not today,” Armie said, and Ben's eyes were slipping closed. There was the sound of turning pages, a sigh from Armie, and a little squeak of the bed as he shifted. A second later, there was a gentle pressure on his head, which he groggily managed to identify as a hand, fingers stroking through his hair, rhythmically and carefully, a simple comfort as he fell asleep.

Hux kept stroking Ben's hair for a while after he fell asleep. It was so soft and gently wavy, and it was a very soothing motion to keep up as he got back into his book on critical analysis of Caesar's writings and tried to calm the feeling – was it excitement? Nerves? - at being so close to Ben so casually like this. Meanwhile, Ben was snoring, just a little, a sound which somehow seemed exactly right and too small for someone like him.

He was becoming worried about Ben; he seemed to be trying to hide it, but Hux could tell how nervous he was about the university's upcoming verdict. He could only hope his own presence hadn't exacerbated those nerves too much, but he suspected it had. Either way, they would know by tomorrow. Ben would get a letter, or an email, and then they would know. Then they could work something out.

Hux really did believe Ben deserved to get in. His art was so amazing, and some of the notes he had seen on the desk had him thinking that Ben did have the right kind of interest in art history and the technical process of it all. But it was hard to know.

Either way, he was sure Ben would make something of himself, with a skill like that. He just couldn't believe that people wouldn't absolutely love it. And if Ben had to go back to America...

Madness scenarios ran through Hux's brain as he processed the words on his page only superficially. He only had one more year of his own degree left, if they could just keep a long-distance relationship alive for that long, he could see about studying further over in the US. God knows, his father would probably be glad enough to be rid of him, it could work...

He pictured himself in Ben's place, the visitor in a foreign country, getting used to an entirely different university system, getting butterflies at this new-relationship-feeling. It was daunting, but it appealed. He could do that. He could want that.

Hux sighed. He hadn't really understood any of the page he had just read. He would have to read it again. His hand stilled, fingers still buried just a little in Ben's hair. Too much motion would wake him up, he reasoned, and it was better to let him sleep. Blinking hard to clear the snoozy feeling that was settling in over him and resisting the urge to just curl up and doze with Ben for the rest of the day, Hux took a sip of his coffee and began to read the page again.

* * *

It was the day of the reply, and Hux had a lecture first thing. The thing was supposed to come through from about nine-thirty in the morning onwards, in the post or by email, whichever happened first, but unfortunately, Hux had to leave by eight forty-five, and would only be back around ten-ish.

“This isn't a summation of your worth,” Hux whispered as he pressed a parting kiss to Ben's lips, delighting in the feeling of getting to stand on his tiptoes so he could reach properly just as he felt guilty for bringing it up again and breaking the spell they'd woven over the morning. He did feel he had to say something, though, that it was important Ben knew what he thought.

Ben let out a shaky breath. “I'll try remember that. I mean...” he shook his head. “Thanks.”

Hux squeezed his forearm. “It's true.”

Ben's reply was a small, faked smile. “You're gonna be late.”

With that, Hux left.

An hour and a bit later, he was heading back from the lecture, cutting through the mall just off the city centre and wondering if he should get Ben something. More cookies was a possibility, safe enough to be had in either the event of a success or a fail, but it seemed like a poor show considering he'd brought the same only the day before, and he was pretty sure there were still at least two left in the tin back at Ben's apartment. Wine? It was an option, but it didn't really seem like a healthy choice. He should text Poe, ask what comfort food Ben liked, in case of the worst.

He was reaching for his phone as he rounded the corner out into the main square, stuttering to a stop as he recognised the tall, dark shape standing in the centre of the pedestrian street, people skirting around him without a second thought, a phone raised to his ear in one hand and an envelope with the top ripped open in the other.

Ben.

“Yes, Mom, I know,” he sounded tired, and the way his hair was falling over his face, Hux couldn't quite gauge his expression. “I'll see you soon, okay? Yep. Yep. No, just... don't tell him yet, okay? Bye.” He lowered the phone and pressed the end call button with his thumb.

“Ben?” Hux called, approaching, his own mission to text Poe entirely forgotten.

Ben turned.

Hux's throat tightened without his permission. Ben's face... well, he couldn't tell what it was saying. “Are you going home?” Hux asked, trying to keep his voice neutral, trying to figure out what he was asking.

Ben seemed to fall into motion, walking and quickly picking up pace as he closed the last few metres between himself and Hux, and, before Hux realised it, Ben's arms were flung around him. He was being lifted up, spun round twice, deposited back on the ground and kissed, deeply, happily, clumsily, his mind still several seconds behind in the shock and confusion of being up in the air.

When Ben pulled away, he was grinning.

“No. I'm in.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When someone comes into the cafe and orders fluff and cookies.
> 
> Thanks for reading, and everyone's lovely comments! I do hope you like this chapter.  
> I'm on tumblr [@pompous-hat](https://pompous-hat.tumblr.com/).


	8. Wotsits

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> moar fluff. plot next week.

They had a party.

Of course, that party consisted of staying in at Ben's with mountains of pizza and snacks. Ben had made Hux re-read the letter for him at least twice, “Just to make sure I didn't miss anything,” and Hux had assured him that he was right, it said he was being offered a place. Ben then picked the movie while Hux moved the pillows through to the living room, and then Poe had shown up with even _more_ snacks in the form of mountains of crisps that, upon seeing them, Hux was not sure any of them were going to eat at any point.

“Rey says congrats!” Poe said, bursting through the front door and making a beeline to the kitchen with the bags of snacks, launching straight into the rest of the explanation as Ben closed the door behind him and returned to where Hux was still arranging cushions for a movie-watching den. “I was with her when you texted and I asked if she wanted to come for pizza, but she said she had to meet Rose, which was probably good, because I hadn't asked you anyway, but that's...”

He continued on in the background as Hux frowned at Ben and mouthed _'You know Rey?'_

Ben nodded. _'Paintball.'_

Hux made an _oh_ shape with his mouth and nodded, turning back to his cushions before frowning again and saying quietly, “You all played paintball? Without me?” He put on some mock offence. Or rather, he didn't want to be offended, but if Ben had gone paintballing with Rey and Rose and Finn, it must have been organised through Poe, which means his room mate hadn't invited him in the first place. It wasn't like he would have been a bad choice; he was quite a good shot, if he did say so himself.

Still, he hadn't thought the offence sounded real enough for Ben to reach for his hand and apologetically say, “I still wasn't sure if you liked me. Next time?”

Hux shook his head with a smile, letting Ben know he was joking. In fact, the thought of Ben taking time to figure out whether or not he had liked him made Hux glow from the inside out. “It's alright, I'm glad you've hung out with them.” Then, he mentally added a tally to the imaginary and very badly followed score of what he owed Poe retribution for.

“...and Finn is busy with rehearsals, so it's just us,” Poe summarised, emerging from the kitchen with a bright look and placing his hands on his hips. Then, his face scrunched up a bit as he looked at Ben with pride and said, “Come here, you!” opening his arms and drawing him into a tight hug, dragging him around the room until Ben was cackling with laughter. Hux had to admit, the image was comical; given their height and build difference, to see Poe manhandling Ben around like that made his lips twitch into an unforced smile.

It reminded him of himself and Phasma a bit, speaking of whom... he hadn't yet told her that his relationship had progressed. Somehow, he'd just always found a way around it, telling himself he would message her about it next time, and then the time after, until eventually enough time had passed that the truth would be a bit awkward. He _would_ tell her though. How couldn't he?

“I'm _proud_ of you Ben,” Poe said, bringing Hux's thoughts back to the present, as he saw Poe clap Ben on the arm.

“Thanks, Poe, I couldn't have done it without you,” Ben added.

The movie they put on first was _Pirates of the Caribbean_ , which, when he asked why that one, Hux was given an animated story about one of Poe's birthday parties when they were much younger and how it had become tradition to watch it every time they needed to celebrate something. It sounded like the kind of fun only kids could have, but Ben and Poe seemed to sink back into it without difficulty. Poor old Will Turner was just delivering his romantic line, “At least once more Miss Swan,” but Hux couldn't care less, too caught up in Poe's story as he leaned forward on the sofa towards Ben, pointing and exclaiming amid body-racking laughter, “And then you got the green skittle stuck up your nose!”

Ben had been about to dangle a slice of pizza dripping with cheese into his mouth, but at this he snorted, erupting into another peal of laughter himself, adding, “I didn't mean to do that!”

It turned out the movie wasn't on for them to watch as much as for them to talk over – all except the bit where Barbossa drawled “Not you, we named the monkey Jaaaack,” which both Ben and Poe insisted with deadly seriousness on saying in time with the film – chatting about whatever they wanted with a light hearted tone, and Hux found that he didn't remember the last time he'd laughed this much.

Finally, the pizza was finished and the movie was over, and Poe stood up to go and get more crisps while Ben picked another one for them all to watch. In order to grab the remote, Ben had to lean over to the coffee table, and when he returned to the sofa, he listed to the side so he was resting on Hux's arm and hip where he had been nestled up against the sofa corner. Hux made a soft _oof_ as this happened; Ben wasn't exactly light.

“Is this okay?” Ben said, tilting his head back to see Hux behind him.

“Just let me...” Hux shifted so that his legs were free and he was fully lying back on the arm rest, Ben squished between himself and the back cushions, his head now comfortably on the crook between Hux's elbow and lower chest. “There.”

Ben reached back and drew Hux's arm over his shoulder to rest on his chest, toying with his fingers. “What do you wanna watch next? There's _Kingsman_?”

“I don't know that I've seen it,” Hux replied, getting increasingly distracted by the way Ben had casually insinuated himself so thoroughly into his space. So far, since the night he'd slept over, he had only really been able to build up to hugging Ben, kissing him or sitting by him, never anything more like this casual yet deep intimacy, and even then his heart would beat like he was running a marathon. Ben could probably even hear it now, with the way it felt like it was hammering at his chest.

“I think you'll like it,” Ben decided, clicking onto the movie's main screen displaying a character their own age in a smart suit and glasses, looking very seriously out of the screen. “You'd make a good Kingsman.”

Hux inspected the blurb. “Are you saying I would be a good spy? Or just that you want to see me in glasses?”

Ben shifted, looking up at him with an open mouth. “The first one, but... you would look so great in them. Is it a suggestion?”

Hux's stomach flipped and his reply came out more hoarse than he would have liked. “It can be.”

Grinning at him, Ben rolled over and crawled up towards him, destroying all the effort he'd put into finding the perfect position to lie together, Hux noted, which would normally annoy him, but now he didn't care at all because Ben was kissing him, chastely except for the playful nip to his bottom lip. Hux was about to chase him back when Poe emerged from the kitchen with bowls of crisps and cried, “Hey, you can't just chuck me off couch!”

“Already did,” Ben replied easily. “As if you didn't do the same thing when you and Finn came over last time, and it's _my_ couch. We're watching _Kingsman_ , by the way.”

Poe sighed in fake exasperation. “At least give me some pillows,” he placed the bowls down and grabbed several off of the opposite end of the sofa to the two of them, starting to arrange them on the floor.

“How are things with Finn, by the way?” Hux asked as Ben got comfortable again and hit play on the TV. He had some idea, judging by how often Finn came over (thereby interrupting his studying with their muffled chatter and... other noises) but he hadn't asked in a while, and he was feeling acutely aware that Poe was becoming the third wheel here.

“They're great!” Poe replied, sitting down and reaching for a bowl, “I'm meeting his mom in a few weeks maybe, when she comes down for the play he's rehearsing. Cheese puff incoming!” With that, he threw one of the crisps from the bowl in the general direction of their heads. It failed miserably, falling to the floor between them.

“Wotsits never did have the best aerodynamics,” Hux remarked apathetically.

Poe looked at the bright orange things in his hands. “Cheese puffs.”

Hux paused. “Wotsits.”

“Cheese puffs.”

“Wotsits.”

“Will you two just watch the damn movie?”

* * *

It was getting late.

They'd also watched _Deadpool_ , during which Hux's foot had started to tap, nerves building at how long he was spending without doing any school work. Ben had reached over the side of the sofa to where his leg was hanging and seized his ankle, lifting it without looking away from the screen. “What's this?” he asked.

Hux had blinked at him, a reaction Ben would be unable to see, given that their position wasn't much changing from the reclined-and-draped-over-each-other one they had struck up before. “My foot?”

“No, you're tippy tapping.”

“I should be doing work,” he admitted, at which point Poe threw another handful of wotsits at him.

“Hux! You're revising all the damn time, you're allowed to take a break!” he exclaimed. “Come on, we're celebrating!”

Hux groaned and wriggled until Ben let him stand up. “Are you gonna be alright?”

“I have a little time, but...” Hux shrugged. “Probably.”

“Stick around? Please?” Ben said, gazing up at him with puppy eyes that looked purposefully put on. “Pleeeeaaase?” God, those eyes would probably be the death of him. Hux chewed his lip and nodded. Instead of heading to his satchel – which contained a tempting, half-finished essay on the Hanseatic League – he used the bathroom, stretched, and returned to get curled up next to Ben again, a reversal of their previous position this time.

 _Deadpool_ finished, and, when they asked Poe if he had any suggestions as to what to put on next, it seemed he was most of the way asleep. Instead, like a man on a mission, Ben headed directly to _Shrek_.

“I do not understand your taste in movies,” Hux had muttered, shaking his head.

“They're all fun,” Ben replied, and Hux felt rather than saw his shrug.

Hux had seen _Shrek_ more than enough that he was happy to only pay partial attention, instead pulling out his phone. Every now and then, Ben would hum along to whichever Smash Mouth song was playing on the movie, a delightful rumbling and rhythmical breathing that was quite soporific, if Hux did say so himself. He checked his email, he checked his schedule, and then he checked his texts. There was a snapchat from Phasma dated twelve minutes ago. He opened the picture, of a dress and a suit draped over her bed with the caption, _the red or the peach?_

Hux quickly snapped a picture of his own face, partially off the camera, a none-too-flattering image he wouldn't dream of sending to anyone else but his best friend. _Red dress_ , he wrote out and sent.

Quickly a reply, of Phasma's face too, her silly expression contrasting with her immaculate eyeliner and impressively finger-waved hair. The lapels of her suit were visible at her neck. _I chose the peach._

Another face snap from Hux, a bright shot from the movie illuminating his frown. _Doing something fancy?_

 _Yee, a charity fundraiser thingy where we all get dressed up and stand around looking stunning._ The picture this time was of her in a hallway, some of her friends in the background making peace signs and silly faces at the camera. _Hbu?_

 _Movie night_ , Hux replied, getting a shot from an angle which gave him approximately eighty-seven double chins. _Ben got in to the uni._

The next picture was a close up shot of Phasma frowning at the camera, her face only visible from the bridge of her nose upwards. Hux noticed she had silver glitter lining her eyes as well. He could practically _hear_ the caption in her voice, the slow question for which she already thought she knew the answer. _What are you lying on._

Hux took a breath. It was time.

He reached up and found Ben's hand, his stomach flipping as he brought it over to his chest. Ben squeezed his hand without asking any questions, or even pausing in his humming. Hux took a pic of himself, including Ben's hand, but not his face. _What do you think?_ he captioned.

The reply was a picture of Phasma's shoes, blurred in motion as she walked. A single word caption: _Hux._

Hux smiled. “Hey, Ben,” he said, shifting up until he and Ben were as close to side by side as they could get on the sofa, “smile.”

Obligingly, Ben did, tilting his head until it rested on Hux's. When he was sure it was taken, he said, “Save that, I look cute.” Then, “Who're you sending it to?”

“Phasma,” Hux told him, hitting _save_ before typing out the word _Ben_ and dragging it until it was placed on Ben's forehead like a label. “My friend from school. She's the person most interested in our relationship, after Poe.”

“So, we're making it official?”

“Of course,” Hux said without even thinking, sending the picture and then stuttering to a stop as his brain realised what Ben was saying. “Or... I'd like that, anyway,” he added a little tentatively, craning his neck so he could see Ben's face. If Ben wanted to, this would be Hux's first relationship ever. There would have been no getting away with one during secondary school, and there had never been anyone he wanted around for the long-term yet anyway. Now, however, he found himself nervous; what the hell would he do if Ben turned around now and told him he _didn't_ want to make it official? It seemed like nonsense – an impossibility, after the time they'd spent together – but what if?

“I'd love for you to be my boyfriend,” Ben said, smiling softly, the flashing light of Shrek, Donkey and Fiona escaping from the fiery castle playing over his features.

And Hux had always hated that word, _boyfriend_ , for all that it implied, for how out of reach it had felt, for how juvenile it had seemed, but now? Now he wanted it. He would reach out for it and clasp it close in to his chest and not let go. He would manoeuvre everything solely so he could have it.

Ben laced their fingers together, brought Hux's hand up and kissed the back of it, turning back to the movie with that content, personal smile.

Hux let out a long sigh, looking back to his phone, upon which a new message had appeared. The image was of Phasma's face, blurrier even than before, as if she had shaken the phone to get the effect. The caption read, _YOUVE NOT BEWN TRLLING ME WGAT HAOOENED – DETAILD_.

Hux's heart felt light. In this moment, everything was perfect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't mean to write this chapter, I was fully planning on getting into the stuff which is now in the *next* chapter, and this came out.  
> My tumblr, [@pompous-hat](https://pompous-hat.tumblr.com/), and thank you so much for reading!


	9. It Will Be Fine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hux recieves a call from his father. Brendol isn't happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter deals a bit with Brendol's terrible parenting. He is disapproving of Ben and it does stray into homophobia - though this isn't particularly explicit or anything, there's maybe one sentence. This chapter is more to do with plot, and Hux realising what he wants.

In the months following, Ben and Armie fell into a routine. With the stress of figuring out whether their relationship would be only temporary or not gone, they were able to settle comfortably into the new-relationship-feeling that left every interaction seeming both as if everything had stopped in time, and as if everything had to be crammed into those short spans in which they were together.

Wednesday ended up being “date night”, since Hux had no early lectures the next morning and Ben wasn't on the late shift, which sometimes meant they went out somewhere nice and sometimes meant staying in, trying to pay more attention to the movie than to each other, before eventually giving up and falling into bed. The nights Ben was at work late, Armie would join him with his books, as he had before; slowly, though, he started noticing Ben was on the night shifts less and less, leaving enough time for them to head back to the apartment, something that was becoming a much more frequent occurrence. At one point, Poe even accused him of moving out.

“Don't be silly,” Hux had scoffed, shoving another change of clothes into his bag.

“I'm not!” Poe complained in return, spreading his arms as if Hux could see the evidence. (There was no evidence, he would tell himself, stopping a moment later to wonder if he should just get a second toothbrush for Ben's place.) “You're barely ever here. Who am I supposed to talk to?”

Now Poe mentioned it, Hux did feel slightly bad for deserting him so thoroughly. He'd never thought his own company had been that great for Poe anyway, so stuck in studying as he always was, tuning out a fair deal of the idle chatter. And Ben's was just so much more convenient than Hux's room; at the apartment there was a dedicated bathroom and shower for them to make liberal use of, much less worry about disturbing the neighbours, and a bed that was actually large enough for them both to fit in.

“The common room is just down there,” Hux pointed out of his own window to a window in the building across the quad from him, “or invite Finn round.”

“Hux,” Poe said seriously, laying his hand on top of Hux's bag where he had just zipped it up to head out, “I'm saying I'm missing having my _friend_ around.”

Hux paused. He looked over Poe's dark, honest eyes. That little crease on his brow was unusual, and seeing it made something in Hux's brain _click_. Poe was actually, truly his friend, a friend of the same calibre as Phasma, the kind who actually wanted to spend time with him, and who he wanted to spend time with in return. He hadn't ever really thought he would find another person like that, but here one was, and Hux was busy wasting it.

“You and I,” he said with a lowered, earnest tone, “will find time.”

Poe sighed, frustrated. “When? You're always working.”

Hux took a long, hard look at his schedule after that. He looked at the time he was spending studying with Ben, and he estimated how much work he realistically got done during that time. He shuffled a few things around, decided to cut down on some hours of this and that here and there, and spoke to a few of his professors about how they thought he was doing. It seemed that the two options before him were _Work_ or _Friends_. It quickly dawned on him which he preferred.

Once he had drawn up a new schedule, he realised his study hours were the thing which had lost out most, by about two and a half hours each week.

He was scared. His work would take a hit for this, he was certain. In fact, the choice he was making was almost unlike himself, certainly unlike the old version of himself that he was under his father's unforgiving expectations. But his professors said he was doing well, everyone was always remarking on how hard he worked, and it wasn't as if Brendol was there to forbid him, was it?

* * *

It was a blustery Sunday in March when the call came through.

He and Ben had just been about to head out – the cinema was doing a screening of one of the original _Star Wars_ movies, and Ben insisted that they _needed_ to catch it, because “it was the way they were intended to be seen, Armie” - when Hux's phone lit up and chimed. He had stopped to look at it, expecting it to be a spam call, but something icy poured down his spine as he internalised the notification.

_Brendol Hux is requesting to Facetime._

A call – shit. A video call – double shit. His father, video-calling only a week before he was supposed to return home for the Easter break – triple shit. Brendol only did things like that when something was serious. A million nightmare scenarios ran through Hux's mind; was it something he had done? Was something wrong with Maratelle? The company wasn't going bankrupt again, was it? Shit. Shit.

Hux quickly sat down at his desk, propping his phone up against some books and clumsily hitting the answer button, too wrapped up in anxiety about the call's purpose to think that he should warn Ben – who was still waiting outside and chatting to Poe, Finn and Rey – that he might be a few minutes.

The video took a moment to connect. When it did, Brendol Hux looked back at Hux, the background made up of the painting in his home office, his visage bearded and gruff in the well put together way that cruel men adopt in an attempt to look professional, personable. Worst of all, the image seemed to Hux a mirror of what he might become, if he let himself. “Hello, father,” he greeted.

“Armitage.” Nothing but the proper titles between father and son, their relationship always teetering more into the formal than the affectionate in a way that almost seemed fake. Hell, Hux had met royals more nurturing parent-child bonds.

“It's good to see you.” The pleasantry came out easily, lie though it was.

Brendol didn't bother with the same courtesy. “I am being called away on business,” he said, and Hux wondered which it was this time, the New York connections or the Russian ones. Either way, 'business' was a strong word for what was closer to 'networking' or 'swanning around fancy hotels under the guise of impressing the hosts'. There had been a brief period in the past four years during which Brendol had occasionally deigned to take Hux with him, but evidently (thankfully) that time was over now.

Hux was consolidating his thoughts on this as Brendol continued, “Maratelle and I will be absent for four weeks of the time you are returning home.” Brendol didn't call it a holiday or a break – he expected Hux to do just as much work as if he were at university – and it wasn't like they were about to celebrate Easter or anything similar as a family affair.

“That is unfortunate, father. However, I hope your trip is fruitful and enjoyable, as far as business ever can be,” Hux replied with a tight smile.

Brendol huffed out a brief laugh, in which Hux couldn't tell if there was any actual mirth or not. This game they played around each other – prescribed statements and prescribed responses – had only gotten worse since Hux had left for university, and any breaks in it were invariably in the heat of arguments. Hux was getting better at those as well.

“There is a matter we will need to discuss upon my return,” Brendol added, his expression hardening again.

Shit. “Oh?”

“Your grades have slipped.”

Hux swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. It was true, his grades _ha_ _d_ slipped a little, but they hadn't slipped nearly as much as he had expected from the changes he had made to his schedule, and he was still very much in the top of his classes. He couldn't exactly explain that to Brendol, though.

Hux ducked his head, examining his fingers, laced together on the desk in front of him. “I wouldn't say-”

“I will not accept this kind of sloppiness from you, boy,” Brendol's tone became harsh, and Hux suppressed a wince at how loud he sounded, even through the phone's tinny speakers.

Hux should have been angry. He should have been furious that his father was able to spy on his grades at all, and he should have been angry about this call – Brendol was well aware it would cause Hux to stew over the inevitable confrontation, anxiety building for the entire four weeks they were away, alone in that over-large, over-expensive house – but he couldn't be. Not only would it make everything worse if he were to lash out now, but he also didn't know where he could find the strength to do something so monumentally foolish in the first place.

So, what he said instead was, “I'm sorry, sir. I'm working on it.”

“You had bloody well better be,” Brendol replied, still sounding disapproving. “I hope you're not-”

It was at that very moment, possibly the worst moment in the entire conversation, that Ben decided to enter. “Armie, babe, are you coming? We'll be late, sugar lips.” He had cracked the door and was leaning around it, already adding how they didn't want to miss the commercials before he realised that something was wrong, and Hux was on the phone. Hux cringed internally as he then added, “Oh fuck, sorry, I'll just...” and backed out.

By the time Hux turned back to face his father, the damage had already been done.

“Who is that... that ruffian?” Brendol practically spat. He was a close-minded man in many respects, but he wasn't an idiot. From just those few words, he would have been able to surmise that they were heading out to a movie. The descriptor wasn't even entirely wrong either, not with Ben's beaten up old leather jacket, ripped jeans, faded band t-shirt and carefully messed up hair.

When Hux spoke, his voice felt small. “That was Ben. He's...”

Silence. Hux didn't have the right word for who Ben was to him.

“He seems like a distraction,” Brendol supplied for him, the words laced with disapproval. Hux could also hear the suspicion in there – the entirely correct one – that they were dating, or something cruder as Brendol might put it, since he disagreed so thoroughly with that kind of 'lifestyle'. “Where does he expect you to go?”

“We...” no easy answer here. Brendol wasn't stupid enough for that. “We were going to see _Star Wars_ , the local cinema-”

“ _Star Wars_?” Brendol thundered, making the phone's speakers strain yet again. Hux wished he could reach over and turn the volume down, but that would be quite possibly catastrophic. “I am not paying for your tuition at the best university in the world for you to mooch around with reprobates! Do you have any idea how much your education costs?”

“Yes, sir,” Hux said quietly, mentally adding that it was no difficulty for Brendol to absorb that cost and then some, considering how little he paid in tax.

“Is that boy even a student?”

Something flared in Hux's chest at that, like a match. “Not yet, but he will be studying art here next year,” Hux informed him, straightening his spine and raising his eyes to the screen again.

“Art?” Brendol laughed fully now, cold and clear, cruel. “That's not a real subject!”

Hux didn't reply to that one. He wasn't sure he could trust himself not to get angry about it.

“Choose well who you associate with,” Brendol said, his tone shifting into that dictating register, as if he expected Hux to listen to and internalise his life advice as gospel. “I met Enric at Oxford, which has proved a most useful alliance.” Oh yes, Hux didn't need to be told yet again about Enric Pryde and the benefits knowing him provided; the arrangement between him and Brendol was the very dictionary definition of 'cronyism'. Enric was an old-money, conservative opportunist who didn't give a stuff about anyone but his own people, except as tools to use and ridicule, qualities which Hux had experienced a fair deal of during his childhood.

“We will discuss... _this_ ,” Brendol nodded at the door behind Hux through which Ben had disappeared, “further when I arrive home.” Hux could see that for what it was – his father was forbidding him to see Ben. A failure to heed that would surely result in unpleasant consequences.

“And Armitage?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Your academic performance _will_ improve to previous standards,” Hux had to force himself not to grit his teeth at the threatening tone his father was using, “otherwise our discussion may include a re-negotiation of what I am willing to finance during your final year. Is that clear?”

Hux wasn't sure his throat was working.

He nodded, croaked out a, “Yes, sir.”

“Good.”

Brendol hung up, leaving Hux looking at his own reflection in the phone's dark screen. He noticed with distaste that it was a little dirty.

Hux had always known that he wanted to break away from his financial obligation to his father, but he hadn't thought that Brendol would withdraw his support so soon. He'd thought he would have at least until the end of next year, and perhaps would still be able to suggest further study after that so that he had more education to leverage when the time came, but now... that was looking like less of an option.

Clearing his throat, Hux stood and walked out of his room, leaving the phone on the desk and locking the door behind him. His grey coat had already been on when the call had come through, and now he shoved his key in his pocket just to give himself something to do.

Ben, Poe, Finn and Rey were all waiting, Ben leaning on the windowsill out in the landing while Poe, Rey made use of the chairs in Poe's room, Finn sat at the top of the stairs. They were all facing his way expectantly, waiting for him to give the word that everything was fine. Ben was biting his lip, shoulders taught, when he broke the silence, stepping forward and offering Hux a hand. “Armie, I'm really sorry, I didn't mean to-”

“Shall we get going?” Hux interrupted him. He didn't blame Ben at all. Not really. This had been coming for a while.

Everyone shuffled to their feet and down the stairs, Finn, Rey and Poe going first, and getting back into their conversation from before, Hux presumed, giving himself and Ben a little space. They were just leaving the residence staircase and crossing out into the quad when Ben pushed his hands into his own pockets and said, “I should have knocked.”

“It's fine,” Hux replied. He wasn't angry. He didn't feel much of anything at all towards Ben, just at the minute, mind too occupied trying not to think of everything else.

He could feel Ben looking at him as they walked, hunched just a little in his usual way. “Is everything alright?”

“Yes,” Hux said without thinking. “Everything is fine.”

There was a touch at his hand, and he looked down to see Ben's fingers gently brushing his, withdrawn from his pocket without Hux even noticing. “You can tell me, if you need to,” he said, and Hux paused in his step, raising his gaze to Ben's, his sweet and lovely eyes, dark brown and nothing at all like Brendol's cold gunmetal grey ones. Hux wasn't prepared to give that up, not after he had only just got it.

Hux nodded, slipping his hand inside Ben's properly. “It will be fine. I just need to schedule a meeting with the college financial advisor and... then it will be alright.”

Ben regarded him for a moment, waiting in case he had more to say, before squeezing his hand. “Okay then,” he said, now drawing Hux to his side with an arm around him and rubbing his shoulder as they resumed their walk to the cinema, “okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More fluffy stuff next chapter <3  
> thanks for reading! I'm on tumblr [@pompous-hat](https://pompous-hat.tumblr.com/)


	10. That's What I Have You For

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Video call with Ben's parents!

A few days before Brendol and Maratelle were scheduled to return, Hux texted his father telling him that he had been invited to stay with some friends for the remainder of the holiday, and that he intended to accept the offer. He didn't specify where, or with who, and he didn't need to; despite the pretences, it was plain for Brendol to see that Hux was avoiding him. Hux didn't care.

There would be no conversation about grades, and there would be no pressure on him to improve them again. There would be no damning examination of his choices at university. There would be no disapproval of his relationship with Ben.

If his grades regained the few percent they had dropped, Hux decided it would be because he had wanted to put in the work, not because he had been intimidated into it. It was entirely possible that Brendol would withdraw his financial support, but if that happened, the college's financial officer had been very helpful in explaining to him how he could get the loans he needed without it affecting his education. The issue would be in his maintenance costs, though he found he wouldn't need to restructure his expenses as much as he had feared, thanks in large part to his already low-priced room. There would be more to pay later, once he'd graduated, but Hux was ready and willing to do it all himself.

The idea to leave had come up a week or so into the holiday, when Phasma had visited for a few days so they could catch up and take advantage of having an entire house to themselves to mess around in. After a water fight which left them both heaving for breath, Hux had collapsed on a sofa and explained his predicament to her. When he was done, she was quiet for a moment before asking, “Is Ben's apartment just sitting empty?”

Just after the term had ended, Ben had gone to visit Italy briefly, and after that he was flying directly back to America for Easter with his family. He and Hux had texted each other the entire time he was in Europe, but avoided calling because of the international costs and patchy wifi at the places he was staying. Then, late one night, Hux's phone had rung, and he'd picked up to a video-call from Ben, sitting on his bed and leaned up against a wall lined with posters from obscure movies and bands Hux had never heard of. Ben was back in America. The first thing out of his mouth was, “I missed hearing your voice.”

Hux left it another week or so, long enough for Ben to get settled back at home, long enough for them to better explore the perks of video-calls, and long enough for himself to build up the courage to ask if he could move in to Ben's apartment for the two weeks before term started again. It wouldn't be an option in the summer, when Ben would be moving out entirely and taking his journey across Europe in earnest, but Hux was making plans with Phasma, and, with some good end of term results, he would have options.

So Hux asked, and Ben readily agreed.

The next morning, Hux woke to a text saying Ben's parents had offered to get him a ticket so he could return to England early and welcome Hux back.

Uninhibited by the presence of anyone else in the house, Hux had allowed himself a joyous, loud, “Yes!” shouted out into the living room. It felt weird, and he wasn't sure he would do such a thing again, but both the cause to have and then the freedom to act upon the impulse was wonderful.

He packed, taking more things than he usually did from his already-Spartan bedroom, and used his father's money to pay for a very expensive taxi to Oxford. Ben was there when he arrived, greeting him with a large, genuine smile, open arms and a kiss that melted Hux right down to the tips of his toes.

* * *

One bright afternoon, Hux had woken up late. Really late.

It was unusual for him to sleep in, both because of his schedule and because he usually got a headache after sleeping in a place too bright or for too long (the irony of this was not lost on him), but the previous night he had been so entrenched in a book about the politics of Nero's rule in Rome that he hadn't noticed how late it was until Ben padded through for a glass of water and summarily informed him it was almost seven in the morning. Ben, of course, had then lured him into bed by giving him several different varieties of goodnight kiss. By the time Hux actually got to sleep, the sky was already lightening.

It all resulted in Hux staggering out of bed at one thirty in the afternoon, and he had never been more glad there was still holiday time left in which to get his sleeping schedule back on track. Half-dead and questing to the kitchen for coffee, he was wearing only his boxers, dressing gown, and another one of Ben's shirts as he passed his boyfriend – he still felt tingly when he thought of Ben like that – who was at his desk and drawing, Hux assumed groggily. Dragging his fingers through his messy hair and yawning, Hux laid a greeting hand on Ben's upper shoulder, stroking up towards his jaw, and wandered off into the kitchen, hitting the kettle and tapping his fingers on the counter for a bit before the realisation hit him.

Ben hadn't been sketching.

When Ben had woken up for the second time, Armie had been fast asleep, his hand curled up over Ben's chest like he was clinging on to something. After carefully extracting himself and making sure Armie was properly tucked in, the covers high up his latte-white shoulders dusted with cinnamon freckles, Ben had made himself some tea and got down to the art he had been meaning to finish.

It would be a relaxed day, he could already tell; Armie would be out of it until at least noon, at which point he would probably get straight down to revision, whereas Ben himself would do some more work on the piece he wanted to send his Uncle Chewie for his birthday, and then later he could head out to the gym. Humming in approval of his own plan, he opened up his laptop, attached his graphics tablet and fell into the meditative concentration of working on his art.

It was just after one when a bubbling notification popped up in the bottom right corner of his computer, followed by his mother's caller ID. Moving his tablet out of the way, Ben double clicked and opened up the call, the image taking a second to load, and then his parents taking a second longer of lag and blinking at the screen to realise he was connected. Finally his mother burst into a smile. “Hello, honey!”

“Hi, Ben,” his father added, a little more reserved, but Ben could tell he was happy to see him too.

“Hi,” Ben said, unable to resist a smile himself, “you guys should have texted me. Told me you were calling. Uh...” he glanced to his left, at the ajar door to his room in which Armie still lay. He was still asleep. It would be fine. “Yeah. So what's up?”

“Nothing much,” Leia started to say exactly as Han leaned in towards the camera – judging by the angle, Ben assumed they had put their laptop on the coffee table by their sofa, the one Leia despaired of him putting his feet on all the time – and shook his head.

“Your mother is dragging us out to the botanic gardens,” he complained, in that tone of voice that said he wasn't really annoyed about it at all, but was playing it up for the same old joke.

Ben chuckled at it, same as usual. He was missing out on quite a few of their traditional family visits and holiday things this year, since he had asked to come back to England two weeks early. It couldn't be helped though; he wouldn't have said no to Armie's request for _anything_ , and to imagine him being alone for any longer than he had to had been making Ben's heart hurt a bit.

“I wish I could go with you,” he said, meaning it. He'd had some rough times with his parents during his teen years, but once they had all put work into understanding each other better, the bond he shared with them had grown to be one of the best things in his life. “I'm sure it will be great.”

“Great?” Han's eyebrows shot up. “We've seen it all before! There's the same plants every year!”

“Oh, you don't expect them to invent new plants now, do you?” Leia said in a tone lightly sounding out her disapproval of this charade.

Han spread his hands. “You'd think they could come up with something.”

“It's not about different plants, it's about going to a botanic garden and feeling the ambience,” Ben interrupted, emphasising the final word with a grin. It was exactly the kind of thing Luke usually said, although Ben reckoned he said it without so much of the serious, spiritual tone behind it.

“Exactly,” Leia nodded, “you should have that kind of attitude.”

Han's reply was a sarcastic, “Yes, your highness,” but everyone knew the subject was only playful, less an argument and more part of the tradition itself. Han would go to the gardens, grumbling all the way about the work he could be doing at the garage until he got there, at which point he would enjoy every moment he spent with his wife and his friends.

“Anyway, we just wanted to call before we left, instead of trying to catch you late at night,” Leia said, moving the conversation on to banal things like how Ben's flight had been, what everyone's plans were, so on and so forth. At first, Ben was concerned he would keep them too long, but they assured him that it would be fine, and that Lando hadn't even arrived yet, so they had time to kill. In this way, the conversation went on and on, until Ben heard mattress springs squeak in the other room.

He assumed it was just Armie turning over, but the next thing he knew, the door had opened, there was a gentle hand on his shoulder – placed high enough up to his neck that it couldn't be mistaken as simply a friendly gesture – and a yawning sound as its owner retreated towards the kitchen, seeming thoroughly unaware of what he had just walked through. Ben could tell him, of course, but it was already too late.

Ben watched as both his parents frowned and leaned forward a little.

“Who's that?” Han asked.

A flush rose onto Ben's cheeks.

Caught up in the feeling of having a private life filled with things his parents didn't know about at all, Ben had only told them selective truths. He had told them there was someone he really liked back in England, one of Poe's friends, whose number they had heard him ask for a few times over Christmas, and he had told them that he wanted to head back early to spend time with some of the friends he had made in England, but he hadn't told them that Armie was temporarily moving in, and he certainly hadn't told them that they were actually in a relationship now. It wasn't that he wouldn't, or that they wouldn't accept it, he just... it seemed awkward to discuss. And then, what with Armie's father being who he was, and Leia being who she was, Ben had decided to just tell them later, after he'd had some time to think about what to say. He had been hoping maybe Poe would be there, if it came up in-person, or that he could send off a text. He certainly didn't intend for it to happen this way, and it was like a curtain coming down in his brain, cutting off every decent excuse he could have come up with.

So instead, what came out was: “Uh. How's the shop, Dad?”

Leia's eyebrows rose and Ben cringed in anticipation of the deserved reprimand he was about to receive. “Ben Organa-Solo, do not avoid our questions.”

At that moment, Ben saw on the part of the screen displaying his own picture a shock of bright orange hair as Armie ducked momentarily round the kitchen door so he could see what was happening. “Ben!” quickly followed, a hiss to get his attention, as if saying it like that would make it any less audible to the people on the other end of the video-call (it didn't).

Ben turned in his chair, hissed back “What?”

“You're on a call!”

Ben glanced between the computer, displaying his parents' expectant faces, and the kitchen. “Do you want to come say hi?”

There came from the kitchen an outraged spluttering sound. “Turn it off!”

“Ben?” Han prompted.

Giving the computer an apologetic look, Ben stood and hurried over to the kitchen, so he could talk without feeling like he was being watched. “I can't just 'turn it off',” he said to Armie as he came around the door, softening a second later as he took in his boyfriend's state.

Armie's hair was still messed up from bed, a look he would never in a million years have let anyone else see on purpose. He looked just as ravishing as ever in his nightclothes – he had appropriated Ben's shirts very fast – but now he clutched the sides of the nightgown around him, worrying his lip with his teeth, his face the picture of anxiety.

Ben reached out to him, put a hand on his elbow. “It's just my parents. I'd love it if you'd introduce yourself.”

Armie shook his head. “Have you told them about me?”

Ben shrugged. “Not that we're a couple,” but then, before Armie could open his mouth to speak again, Ben assured him it would be fine. “They'll be completely chill with it, even if you only give them a wave.”

Armie fidgeted with his robe. “I'm not dressed for it.”

“Don't worry,” Ben tried to tell him, “they won't care about-”

“No,” Armie said sharply, paling a little. “Go, turn off that camera.”

Ben huffed out a sigh, withdrawing his hand again and wiggling his fingers to get out some of the irritated energy. He wasn't going to just blank his parents when they deserved to know he was in a relationship, when he wanted to tell them. “I-”

“Turn it off.” Armie pointed imperiously to the door, eyes flashing. “Then, give me five minutes to get some clothes on, and I'll be out. However, I will _not_ have their first proper introduction to me be while I am in my underwear. Is that clear?”

The annoyance didn't quite fade as quickly as it sprung up, since it took Ben a good second to internalise what Armie had just said. Five minutes. He would be out. His first proper introduction.

Armie crossed his arms and dropped his brows. “Unless you've changed your mind?”

Ben snapped back to attention. “Of course not, I'll go and...” he started making towards the door before realising there was another thing he wanted to do, spinning on his heel and cupping Armie's jaw for a quick kiss, then hurrying out properly this time.

Sitting down at the desk, Ben realised he hadn't muted the call in the first place. He pursed his lips. That was stupid. His parents wouldn't have heard it all, but, judging by their crossed arms and expressions bordering between sceptical and knowing, they had heard enough. “Sorry about this,” he told them, hitting the _disable video_ button to call out, “okay, you're good.”

Armie scuttled out from the kitchen, his bare feet slapping a little on the tiled floor as he crossed to the bedroom. “You mustn't just randomly kiss me like that. It throws me every time,” he chastised, before noticing that the audio was still on, giving Ben a look that would slice anyone else in two, and mouthing _'You bastard'_.

Ben shrugged, his mouth twitching into a smile.

Armie pressed the door closed behind him, calling out, “You can... fill them in a bit,” as Ben turned to re-enable the camera.

With all these shenanigans, it seemed his mother was enjoying it significantly less than his father. Where Leia was sitting stiffly, looking very much ready to tell him to 'cut the bullshit', Han was leaned back on the couch, glancing between his wife and the camera with a gleeful grin.

Ben put on a smile. “So, Mom, you know when I was asking Poe for his friend's number all over Christmas?”

Leia nodded.

“And then I asked you if I could come back to England a little early?”

She nodded again, the kind of carefully reserved nod that she used when she was forcing herself to be patient – with him, particularly.

“Well, it's because of this guy I met at the cafe,” he explained, taking a deep breath and looking more closely at the top row of buttons on the computer than at the screen's display. “We started dating and I really wanted to be able to spend some time with him where we weren't both busy with work.”

There was a moment of silence as Leia nodded, thinking it over. Ben could see Han watching her reaction as well, and he wasn't sure what that meant for what he thought, but he couldn't imagine they would be unhappy. He had dated before, haphazardly as it was, and they'd supported him completely when he came out, but the time they were taking to speak made him concerned they would have something to say about starting up a relationship so far away from home.

“So he's a friend of Poe's?” Leia asked eventually. “A student?”

“Yes.” Now it was Ben's turn to nod, as if that would make the nerves that were slowly ramping up disappear. It was pissing him off a bit. Why couldn't his mom just be more understanding? “He works so hard during the term that he's basically busy all the time.”

“How long have you been dating?”

Ben tried not to think of this as an interrogation as he answered, “Since mid January.”

A twitch of Han's brows and the way Leia blinked let Ben know that they were surprised he had kept it secret so long, that he hadn't told them. He didn't know they had expected him to. “But you met him before Christmas?”

“At the start of the year.”

Han and Leia exchanged a look. It was Han who spoke first. “Thanks for telling us, kid, uh...” he cast his gaze around, searching for something both unfindable and unclear, “he sounds great. You know, Leia didn't let me meet her parents for a whole two years after we met.” (Ben did know, Han had told him the story many times before.)

“Yes, he... sounds wonderful honey, I guess I'm only wondering,” she clasped her hands over her knees, and irritation rose up at the back of Ben's throat, an argument ready to burst out the second she voiced her concern, just like it always used to any time he wanted to have something for himself in his life and she acted like she knew better, “you skipped out on the holidays with us, when you could have just invited him over?”

Ben's eyebrows shot up, and he made a silent _o_ with his mouth. He felt guilty for his prior anger now. “I didn't know that was an option.”

“Of course,” Leia assured him. “Don't feel like you have to hide anything like this, we've discussed this before. And we both,” she gestured to Han, who quickly realised he was meant to nod along, “would love to meet him. Your boyfriend?”

“Uh, yes,” Ben said, pointing over his shoulder at the bedroom door, still closed. “He'll be out in just a minute.”

Indeed, a few short moments later, the door was being whisked open and Armie was marching out, just straightening the collar of the white dress shirt he now was wearing beneath a maroon sweater – new, he'd told Ben last week when he'd taken it out of his suitcase – and tucking a few stray strands of hair behind his ears. It was such a transformation from what he was wearing just a short time ago to this, and god, Ben felt underdressed, still in his shirt and sweatpants, especially as he noticed Armie had taken the time to put on dress pants and shoes.

Reaching back into the room, Armie withdrew a chair – the clothes chair, and Ben cringed internally as he realised Armie would have dumped all the garments which had been slung over it onto the floor, probably as an incentive for Ben to put them all away. But then Armie was setting the chair down on Ben's right and taking a seat, sitting stiffly and properly, glancing between Ben and the screen, betraying his nerves just enough that Ben wanted to reach out to him. Something, however, told him it wouldn't be appreciated just at that moment.

“You don't wanna move to the sofa?” Ben asked him quietly.

Armie shook his head tightly. “Bad angle,” he replied under his breath, before clearing his throat.

“Alright then,” Ben said, shaking himself out of the mesmerised trance Armie was drawing him into, simply by being _himself_ , and turning to his parents. “Mom, Dad, this is Armie.”

“Armitage,” Armie clarified, though it struck Ben that he was being a little too proper – his accent had tightened up again to that practised, clear speech Ben knew he only ever bothered to use when talking to someone important. Perhaps he was just nervous. “It's very good to meet you, sir. Ma'am.”

At that, Han barked out a laugh, before wincing and letting out a small “ow,” with what Ben was sure was Leia kicking him out of shot. But his mother was smiling. “No need for the formalities, honey! Please, call me Leia or Ms Organa,” she told him, pulling out her best motherly smile, paired with a light squint. Was she sizing Armie up? Ben couldn't tell – he never had been so good at figuring out what those little micro-expressions meant. He often wished he could just look into a person's mind and hear their thoughts, to clear it up.

Armie nodded, “Very well, Ms Organa.”

“I don't know what Ben here has told you about us, but we're not ones for standing on all that. This is my husband, Han,” she indicated him, and he leaned forward, apparently recovered from his brief wound.

“Hey, kid!” he greeted, his standard appellative for anyone approximately Ben's age or younger slipping out, “So. Ben says you're a student?”

“Yes, sir,” Armie replied, despite having been told the title wasn't necessary.

“Whaddaya study?”

“Ancient and modern history.” He stopped there, until Ben nudged his foot to elaborate, at which point he added, “My thesis is going to be on the outstanding effect of the Roman Empire on European culture and politics after its fall.” Then, he raised his eyebrows at Ben as if to ask, _Is that enough?_

Ben responded with a tiny shrug.

“Didn't Three-Pio do history?” Han was asking Leia, as if the conversation was easy to duck in and out of.

“No, he did languages as well, like Poe,” Leia corrected him, before facing Armie again. “Speaking of, Ben says you're a friend of my godson's?”

“His is the room opposite mine at the college,” Armie confirmed. “He's rather a magnetic character. Attracts plenty of friends.”

Ben huffed out a single-syllable laugh at that. Armie made it sound so much more intentional than the truth, which was that Poe dashed in and out of so many people's lives that he tended to accidentally pick them up along the way in that bundle of energy and charisma.

“Yes, that sounds like him,” Leia mused.

“He and Ben stole my car this one time,” Han said, digressing into the short story, about the time the two of them had stolen the _Falcon_ and proceeded to freewheel round the city before finally crashing into a tree. At first, Ben wasn't sure what he was doing, but, a little way in, he noticed that Armie was actually relaxing, leaning in to the conversation a bit – he even laughed at the end. Without realising he was doing it, Ben slid his hand across to Armie's beneath the desk, squeezing it where it rested on Armie's thigh and warming when Armie stroked his thumb over Ben's knuckles in return.

But then his mom said something both unexpected and unwelcome, which made them both tense up again. “I'm sorry, this is entirely off topic... I feel as though I recognise you from somewhere? Ben, are you sure you didn't show me a picture?”

Ben shrugged, trying to give Armie an out if he wanted to. “I might have done?”

However, it seemed Armie didn't want such a diversion. “No,” he straightened up further, straight back to his stiff-backed posture from before. “You may know my father. Brendol Hux.”

Leia's eyes narrowed and her lips pursed, enough to be notable. So that was what the squint had been – trying to place where she knew Armie's face from. The infamous Brendol Hux and his company, adept at dodging the Senate's questions like they were paper airplanes, known to Leia primarily for their workers' rights abuses and tax avoidance.

Ben was staring daggers at the camera, trying with all his might to mentally tell his mom to drop the subject. He would have more than a few things to say to her if she were to ruin the conversation now. It wasn't like Armie owed her an explanation about who he was related to. Fuck, Ben had been so sure she would handle it better than this, would be fine with it, would be-

But the only thing she said was, “Oh yes. I imagine that's it,” a little cold, but not unkind.

“How did you meet Ben, then?” Han cut in instead.

Armie cleared his throat, his hand shifting in Ben's. “I went into the coffee shop, and he got my order wrong on purpose.”

“On purpose?” Han was grinning again, and Ben could feel that he wouldn't hear the end of it, probably would receive a long talk about how to flirt 'properly' the next time Han was driving him the long road back from the airport.

“It wasn't!” he objected quickly. “I was new, I'd only been trained on the stuff for about, I don't know, like, a week? I was _not_ fully clear on what I was doing.”

Armie looked at him sceptically. “If you say so.”

“I do say so.”

“You're a bad liar.”

Ben made an indignant sound, even though he couldn't deny it. “Well... you're a bad... uh... you can't make coffee at all,” he spluttered. “So, there.”

Armie shrugged, a gleam in his eye as he said, “That's what I have you for.”

On the other end of the line, there was the sound of a ringing doorbell, followed quickly by Leia standing and moving out of shot, presumably to get the door, and then by Han greeting Lando, who, it seemed, had finally arrived. “I'm sorry kid, it looks like we're gonna have to head out.”

“Better late than never,” Leia added, appearing again as she perched on the couch, hands coming down to find the computer's keyboard.

“Is that Ben?” a voice off-camera asked, that of his Uncle Lando, who, a moment later, popped into shot, waving a hand and calling out a “Hey, Benji!” before Han waved him off, an indignant expression on his face.

“It was great to see you,” Leia said, smiling comfortingly, and this time Ben believed it, every trace of the coldness which had come over when Armie's father was mentioned now gone. “Ben, honey, do phone us next week some time, stay safe. Armitage,” her gaze shifted, and in his periphery, Ben saw Armie's throat bob, “you seem like a lovely young man. Perhaps you'll consider visiting in the summer?”

“Visiting?” Armie did sound a bit shocked. “America?”

“Yes, there's plenty of room in the house for you to stay.” She cocked her head. “You're very welcome.”

“Yes,” Armie said. “That would be. Nice.”

“Wonderful,” Leia summarised. “I love you, Ben. See you next week.”

Han, who had been engaging in a more muffled conversation with Lando over the top of the screen now turned back to them and waved. “Love you, son! See you soon!”

“Bye, love you!” Ben replied, quickly bringing his hand up to wave in the few seconds before the image went black and the call had been closed. He clicked around the window, closing it and putting his other tabs in order. Then, he turned back to Armie, who was managing to both look relieved and uncomfortable at the same time.

“That wasn't so bad,” Ben said, partly trying to convince himself, adding tentatively, “was it?”

Armie drew in a deep breath, shaking his head, but not yet meeting Ben's eyes. “No. They seem... great.”

The whole thing must have been more taxing for Armie than it seemed, Ben realised, and, getting his boyfriend's attention with a gentle, “Hey,” he leaned in and placed a soft kiss on his lips, resting their foreheads together when he pulled away, his bare foot accidentally nudging Armie's covered one. “You shouldn't have bothered with the shoes,” he noted. “You didn't need to run away.”

Armie angled his head down a bit, looking at his shoes for himself. “It just made me feel...” he seemed to be trying to find the word. “Safer. More secure.” _Like armour_ , Ben thought, ready so Armie could get up and go, if he needed to. It made sense, with what he had told Ben about his father; whenever he spoke about that relationship, he was very pragmatic about it, but in moments like this, Ben could see some of the truth of his feelings about it all. Of course meeting someone else's parents might be nerve-wracking for him, especially Leia, especially when his father had been brought up like a topic of conversation. “You can't be caught out if you're properly dressed,” Armie mused to himself, quoting someone, perhaps.

“I never would have let them be hurtful to you like that,” Ben said, wishing he'd shut his mother's question down faster. He would certainly make sure there would be no repeat-emergence of such curiosity.

Armie just shrugged.

So Ben changed tack, trying a more uplifting tone. “And hey, they really liked you! Mom invited you over already.”

Frowning, a mixture of amusement of disbelief, Armie straightened up. “Did she really mean this summer? As in, June?”

Ben nodded.

“I don't know if my father would give me the money for a flight, even if-”

Waving the idea away, Ben told him with no uncertainty, “Don't worry about that. She wouldn't have offered if she wasn't prepared to get the ticket for you.” He smiled, ducking to catch Armie's gaze. “Besides, she already said I should have just invited you over there for this holiday.”

“I...” Armie seemed genuinely surprised, and perhaps a little touched. “What if we aren't even together any more by then?”

Now it was Ben's turn to straighten up. It was already April. Was Armie trying to tell him something? “Are you planning on breaking up with me?” He wanted to be flippant, but it came out equal parts challenge, warning and actual question.

Armie didn't even pause before he amitted, “No.”

“Then there's nothing to worry about.”

Armie laughed a bit at that, a slightly exasperated sound. He tilted forward until his head was resting on Ben's shoulder. “Your father seems interesting,” he commented. “He thinks he's funny.”

Ben sighed, confident now that one slightly awkward video call hadn't ruined everything. “Yeah. He does.” Then, a second later, “Do you wanna get back in your P-Js and I'll make you that coffee?”

Ben felt Armie nod, felt him press a kiss to the corner of his jaw, before patting his chest and getting up to go back to the bedroom. “That's what I have you for.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Longish chapter! Featuring the positive sequel to the last chapter. Everyone's comments and kudos are massively appreciated, thank you all!!! The plan is for this fic to have about two more chapters, but I'm pretty sure I said something similar back in chapter three, yet here we are. We will see.  
> Find me on [tumblr, @pompous-hat](https://pompous-hat.tumblr.com/)!


	11. Definitions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hux has an exam, Ben's really busy at the cafe.

The holiday ended, April tapered to a close and June came. Hux moved out of Ben's apartment and back into his dorm room. His expenses were still paid, and everything was exactly as normal. It seemed that this 'conversation' Brendol had wanted was just going to become another thing they ignored.

The days were long and getting warmer, chattering voices passing Hux's window out in the quad late into the evening, floating up to where he sat at his desk studying, window thrown open beneath a purple and yellow twilight. Last year, these sounds had annoyed him until he had steadfastly shut everything up and slowly burned in his stifling little room, but now, they made something inside him feel light. He didn't feel outside of that world any more, and, increasingly, he was joining the chattering groups of people walking around the college's extensive gardens, watching dramatic productions out on the lawn – the talented and the terrible both – staying out as late as he dared and ascending the staircases made too-yellow by midnight interior lighting.

Sometimes, Hux would look up while studying and everything would hit him at once – everything he had, how happy he was, everything that was still going to happen. He would wait for the other shoe to drop – as if all his hard work would implode that very second, just because he was looking, and he would be left out in the cold – but it never did fall.

One afternoon, Hux was in his books, practising his translations for the optional Latin course exam he was to take in about a week. His other courses would only have final essays to turn in, decidedly less high pressure, since _actual_ final exams would only take place next year, but he wanted to score well in this one. He was having trouble recognising some of the unusual constructions, and he wanted to go through them at least once more today in the final fifteen minutes before he was supposed to go out with-

“Armie!” came the call, rising up to his room and alighting on his window frame like a bird. Or it certainly made Hux's heart soar like a bird anyway; perhaps the Ovid practise translations were getting to him. Suppressing his smile, Hux pushed out his chair and leaned out of the window as best as possible, notes temporarily discarded.

“Armie-o, Armie-o, wherefore art thou, Armie-o?” Ben soliloquised from below him, holding up a frappe in a to-go cup and gesturing to it like it was Yorick's skull out of _Hamlet_. He was still wearing his black barista shirt, too-tight and nicely emphasising his shoulder muscles from this angle; he must have come straight over from the cafe. His dark hair had grown out even more, and in recent weeks he'd taken to putting it up in a low, messy bun that Hux both hated and loved for how cliché it was.

“We're going to see _Midsummer Night's Dream_ not _Romeo and Juliet_ , you know,” he replied, cocking his head as Ben turned his attention upwards, a bright smile on his face, stepping backwards onto the grass of the quad proper, so he didn't have to crane his neck quite so badly.

“The difference isn't that much if you have no idea what the fuck they're saying anyway,” Ben replied.

“It isn't _that_ hard,” Hux chided, “I'm sure you'll get most of it.”

“You're right, I will,” Ben said cheekily, “because I'm going to have you in my ear explaining it all as we go.” He lifted the frappe. “Now get down here, your coffee is melting.”

“Oh my god, _Ben_!” Hux heard a shout from somewhere off to the right, Poe's voice, pissed. “Get off the grass!” Poe appeared into view, reaching out to grasp Ben's arms and yank him back onto the path. Hux withdrew back inside his window and, grabbing a page of his condensed notes, made to come down the stairs as he heard Poe reprimand outside, “If they catch you, they'll make _me_ cut the grass. By hand. With these giant clipper things!”

“Done it before, have you Dameron?”

“Of course I fucking have, now get _off_!”

The performance was in Worcester college itself, on a makeshift stage laid out on the lawn. The expansive gardens were lovely in the summer, and the playmakers had set up little lanterns around the place to properly evoke the feeling of the magical forest. It was a really romantic little set, and Hux was sure it would only get more so as the sun started to go down and the lights came up.

Poe had asked them to come, since Finn was to play Lysander. Hux had said no and no and _no_ , that he needed to revise, but then Poe had looked at Ben, and Ben had looked at Hux with his best representation of puppy eyes, and Hux hadn't been able to say no any more.

They took their seats, finding Rey, who was already there saving the place. Hux hadn't realised before, but she was also an art student, and now, whenever they were together, all she and Ben would talk about was the course for first year students. Hux didn't mind today – Ben's hand was lazily tracing patterns on his knee even though his attention was turned on Rey, and Hux was able to focus instead on his notes, muttering noun declensions under his breath.

But then the play was starting, a tinkling kind of music starting up out of nowhere, and the chatter from all around died down. Ben finally noticed that Hux had brought his notes and wasn't putting them away, and he leaned in to whisper in Hux's ear, “Armie, come on, watch the play.”

His warm breath gave Hux shivers, even in the fine early-summer afternoon, but he didn't do as Ben asked. “I really have to get these,” he replied.

Ben frowned at him imploringly. Hux tried to resist, he really did, but that fucking pout was too powerful.

He folded the notes carefully and stuck them in his pocket.

The play was good – all the performers were impressive, but Finn especially was an amazing actor, and Hux could see Poe beaming every time his boyfriend was onstage – and the staging was really magical as the sun set. The few questions that Ben asked about what was happening weren't stupid at all, and a couple of times, Hux also admitted he wasn't sure what the hell the characters were on about either, especially when he was actually going over what he could remember of his notes in his head rather than paying attention. When his foot started tapping out of anxiety to be doing something, Ben squeezed his knee gently and didn't complain, eventually drawing him into his side when the temperature dropped, knowing exactly what Hux needed without him saying it.

The final scene was one of revelry, the wedding party, in which the actors spilled off of the stage and encouraged the audience to dance with them to the music. Poe and Rey ran off to find Finn, leaving Hux and Ben sat on the white deck chairs laid out for the play.

Hux stood, straightened his button down shirt and drew his phone and notes out of his pocket. “It's nearly ten,” he announced, “I can still get another three hours in.”

Ben quickly rose as well, a hand gently on Hux's hip. “Are you leaving straight away?”

He nodded curtly.

Ben cocked his head. “Can I convince you to stay and dance with me?”

Hux glanced down at the time on his phone, and then around at the happy crowd of people they were somewhere on the periphery of. He could see Finn and Rey and Poe smiling and laughing with each other near the stage, moving to the music without a care in the world. He could see other people doing the same. The ambience was so nice, and Ben looked so handsome in the glow of the lanterns. But he should really be going... every time Ben asked him to stay like this, hours went by in the blink of an eye...

“Alright,” he said quietly, and in an instant, Ben's hand was taking his, guiding him down to the clear area where the main part of the 'ball' was taking place.

Hux shoved his phone and notes back in his pocket, just in time for them to reach the floor, and for Ben to twirl him around into his arms, grinning. Hux couldn't resist smiling either – Ben was so good at making him forget his worries, his academic obligations, at making him feel thoroughly swept off his feet.

It turned out that neither of them was any good at dancing, at first separating out again into what was little more than a back and forth motion connected at the hands, but as the music changed, they got closer and closer until Hux quite forgot what time it was, Ben's hands spanning his waist and his arms thrown around Ben's neck.

“Thank you,” Ben said, his expression impossibly soft as the romantic, slow-dance style music filled the night air, his eyes slipping closed and his forehead leaning down to meet Hux's, the two of them shifting from foot to foot. “I love this.”

Hux's throat bobbed. _Love_ , a word he had been thinking about all too much of late. It made him nervous, but he found he wanted it. He spent time defining and redefining it until he gave up, staunchly refusing to face the ever more obvious reality that it maybe applied to him.

“You're a terrible influence on me,” Hux told him, raising himself onto his tiptoes so he could kiss Ben properly, lest the word _love_ define itself yet again.

* * *

It was the day of the exam.

Hux woke up nervous, nervously got coffee from the common room, read over his notes nervously and dressed himself with nervous precision, making sure each item of clothing his academic dress was perfectly straight over and over, until Poe knocked on his door to wish him luck.

He set off, being unable to delay it any longer for fear of _actually_ being late, catching up with Mitaka on the street on the way to the exam hall. He hoped at first that some company would distract him, but all that happened was that he wasn't able to pay any attention at all to Mitaka's small talk.

Because, as usual, what if? What if he wasn't prepared for this course which he'd foolishly tried to cram into one year? What if he had been spending too much time 'socialising'? What if he hadn't studied enough? What if this – a quite unreasonable fear, yet he couldn't escape it – somehow caused everything to spiral out of control and come crashing down?

He took a few calming breaths before he went into the exam, which helped.

Or did it? He came out of the exam having no clue how he'd done. He finished early, ahead of everyone else by a good ten minutes, with another fifteen before the exam's end time. He went over and over the paper, searching more and more frantically for what he had missed, what he hadn't done, what everyone else was doing – and turning up nothing. It was a mess. He sighed, getting a warning look from one of the other students, and resigned himself to the idea that he'd probably done terribly.

He wanted Ben.

Eventually the time had run out and he'd done all he could do. He handed the exam paper in and left as quickly as possible, not even waiting to ask Mitaka how he'd found it.

He wanted Ben.

The weather was warm and sunny, lovely for a day out, but it made Hux feel too warm in his shirt collar and academic dress. He shrugged off the black gown, folded it over his arm and tried not to feel like he wasn't wearing a uniform properly. The streets were heaving, making the going to the cafe slow and annoying, doubly so since he'd had to leave his phone back in his room. Then, when he finally did arrive at the _Mean Bean_ , the place almost had a line out the door, tables set up out front to expand their capacity.

He decided he didn't want to go in. If he could go back to the college, get into something more comfortable, maybe relax with Poe for a while to take his mind off things, he would see Ben later. But he wanted to see Ben now. But he didn't want to go in.

He was busy dithering, trying to make up his mind between _boyfriend now_ or _boyfriend later_ , when the boyfriend in question squeezed past the people standing in the doorway, a tray in hand.

Ben's face lit up as he spotted Hux standing in the middle of the square, a few metres away from the cafe front and easily distinguishable by his hair and black and white academic dress, but he first had to cross to the three outdoor tables and unload the various drinks upon the tray. Hux's heart lightened nearly ten tonnes just seeing him, and the way it leapt when Ben was done and started heading in his direction was even better.

Hux hugged Ben before either of them had really had a chance to say anything to each other, and the breathless way Ben said “Armie,” only had Hux pulling him in tighter. Ben smelled of coffee and chocolate and that brand of body spray he used, and he was warm, but the good kind, and the way he hugged back, the tray drooping at an awkward angle, was all Hux wanted for the rest of the day. It was like an instant brake applied to his agonising about the exam.

“Are you okay, ginger-snap?” Ben said, leaning back and ducking to meet Hux's eyes.

Hux nodded. Then, he bit his lip and shook his head. “I think I fucked it,” he confessed a second later.

Ben's hand came up to Hux's jaw, a gentle thumb passed over his cheek, before gently stroking through his hair. “It's in the past now,” Ben assured him, knowing this was his only exam. His dark eyes twinkled as an idea struck him. “I'll get you something nice for later. I think that you deserve to celebrate when crappy things are over.”

Hux's mind flashed vividly back to an overcast day back in November, when Ben had told him almost exactly the same thing when he'd come into the cafe for comfort in the form of caffeine. And... thinking about it... Hux couldn't even remember what he'd been upset about back then, but he remembered the way Ben had seemed determined to make it all okay. “Blueberry muffin?” he asked tentatively.

“Anything you want,” Ben replied.

“And my white raspberry mochaccino? With cream on top?”

He was worried he sounded demanding – after everything else today, he didn't want to make Ben angry with him – but Ben just smiled. “Sure, sugar lips.”

Someone from inside called Ben's name loudly, making them both jump and look round. The cafe was packed, and, if anything, the line had only gotten longer. They needed backup inside, and Ben was too busy tending to Hux.

“I'm really sorry, I've got to go. I get off in about forty-five minutes,” Ben said, speaking quickly. “We are absolutely rushed off our feet in there. Do you want to come in and I can try get it for you a bit ahead of the wait?”

No, Hux didn't want to skip the line, and it certainly did look too busy; there was a reason he usually showed up to the cafe late at night or first thing in the morning. “I'm not up to it,” Hux sighed, “but I can wait for later. I mostly...” Did he want to say this? He did. “I mostly just want to see you.”

Ben opened and closed his mouth a few times.

Hux took a breath. “Ben, I-”

Someone called Ben's name from inside yet again, interrupting Hux. Ben looked sheepish, and it caused him to jump back into action, darting forward, kissing Hux hard, and calling back as he retreated into the cafe, “I won't stay longer than I have to. I love you!” Then he disappeared inside the door.

Hux was left stunned. The jackhammer inside his chest started up again, for a different reason than before, while his mind stayed calm. In a daze, he turned and wandered off in the direction of his college.

* * *

“What's happened to him?” Finn whispered to Poe on the landing between the two rooms.

“I don't know...” Poe replied, also keeping his voice low.

“I mean he's... smiling.”

Poe shrugged. “He had an exam today. Maybe?”

Finn gave a short, doubting laugh. “Who smiles like that after an exam?”

“I'm not sure...” Poe looked over at Hux, who had walked in wordlessly a little while ago and sat on his bed, a small, unusually happy smile on his face, looking wistfully out of the window instead of getting changed. Then, he turned to Finn. “You should go, or you'll be late.”

Finn grumbled wordlessly, fixing his collar. As a first year, he also had an exam soon, and was similarly dressed in the prescribed academic dress which the university insisted on. He didn't like being made to dress in the formal black and white, uncomfortable clothes, which he always pointed out were entirely unnecessary for exams, even if Poe thought he looked rather good in the fitted shirts.

Poe leaned forward, stopping Finn's fidgeting with the fabric and giving him a lingering kiss. “Good luck.”

“Thanks, babe,” Finn said, squeezing Poe's arm and heading down the stairs.

Poe watched him go before turning and heading over to Hux's doorway. He looked at Hux for a minute, which Hux didn't even seem to notice, too wrapped up in whatever was giving him that far-away look in his eyes. “So how'd it go?”

Finally Hux seemed to notice him. “Hm?”

Poe frowned. “The exam?”

“Oh,” Hux said, as if only just remembering, despite the fact he still looked like he was straight out of the exam hall. “I don't think it was my best.”

But if it didn't go well, why was he..? “What's making you so happy then?”

Hux grinned again and ducked his head, squeezing his hands in between his knees. “Ben said he loves me.”

Poe's mouth opened wordlessly. It wasn't especially surprising, given how effusive Ben could be about his emotions sometimes, but Hux was looking so genuinely joyful about it, Poe didn't want to say something stupid and ruin it. It seemed like an important milestone for Hux. “That's so sweet,” he eventually settled on. “Is he still at the cafe?”

“Yes,” Hux sighed. “It's really busy there, because of the good weather.” Then, he frowned. “What if he didn't mean to say it?”

“What?” The swap between Hux's almost dazed happiness and this other tone – sharp, analytical and doubtful – was like whiplash.

Hux shook his head, the fronds of hair hanging from his fringe shaking. “He was busy, it isn't like he was paying attention when he said it.”

“Is... that a problem?”

“Yes!” Hux looked affronted, and Poe held up his hands in mock surrender. “He can't have meant it.”

“I mean, sure,” Poe shrugged, “it's not very romantic, but even if it just slipped out, doesn't that make it more... I don't know, authentic?”

Hux held up a finger and stood. Poe sighed, grabbed the desk chair and sat down. As he predicted, Hux spent a good half hour going over all the possible reasons why Ben hadn't meant what he'd said; it started simple, with things like how he thought accidental confessions weren't as meaningful as considered ones (bogus, in Poe's opinion), moving onto how it was far too early in their relationship, finally getting into what Poe suspected were the real reasons – that he was scared he didn't deserve Ben.

“He means it, Hux,” Poe said when he could. “Just ask him when you see him.”

Hux groaned, sitting down on the bed again and scrubbing his face with his hands, before allowing himself to lie down on it.

“Or say it back,” he added.

Hux hummed. “I was going to. Before he said it. I was...”

Poe spluttered, incredulous, letting the chair he was rocking back in fall to rest on all of its feet. “What do you mean you were 'going to'? You were ready to, and now you're worried about him saying it first?”

“This has made me reconsider,” Hux replied.

“It's three words, it's not going to break everything!”

“You don't know that.”  
“I do-”

A clattering on the stairs broke Poe off, the sound of someone climbing up them as fast as possible. Poe and Hux made it out onto the landing just in time for Ben to ascend the top step and, catching sight of the two of them, freeze. A moccachino cup was in his right hand, a brown paper bag in his left, and he looked flushed, as if he'd rushed to get there.

They all looked at each other for a long moment.

Hux audibly swallowed. “Ben?”

“I love you,” Ben said immediately, crossing the meter or so's distance between himself and Hux, shoving the bag and drink at Poe as he passed, instead bringing his now-free hands up to cup Hux's jaw and pull him into a kiss which was returned (certainly from Poe's perspective) with enthusiasm showing none of the reservations Hux had just been listing. Hux's arms ended up thrown over Ben's shoulders, and Ben's ended up scrabbling at the back of Hux's shirt.

“Armie, I love you,” Ben repeated when he pulled away for breath.

“I love you too,” Hux replied, hesitating just a little on the last word.

“I didn't realise I said it until I'd gone back inside,” Poe could hear how happy Ben sounded, and Hux was already backing into his room again, eyes not leaving Ben's face, “and by then you were gone.”

“It certainly made waiting for you to get back difficult,” Hux told him, something which Poe would call an understatement, if the rant was anything to go by.

“That was the longest fucking hour of my life,” Ben added. They were fully over the threshold to Hux's tiny room now, acting like it was impossible for them to do anything other than touch and make moon-eyes at each other. “I almost dropped, like, an entire tray of coffees because I wasn't focussing.” Now Ben's foot was reaching back to push the door closed behind him. Nothing made those rooms look smaller than people actually seeing people in them, and Poe couldn't imagine that Ben and Hux were about to have a massively easy time with... what they were clearly intending on doing.

All the while, Poe was just standing there, holding the coffee and the bag like a hat stand. He cleared his throat.

The door was mostly closed, but Hux didn't bother to look round it, and Ben didn't stop closing it. “Poe, you should go,” Hux said, but it was muffled towards the end with what Poe assumed was probably Ben kissing him again.

“I've got your coffee,” Poe called back, not entirely sure what to do. Usually it was him asking Hux to vacate the premises for fear of getting too loud.

“So?” The door was fully closed now.

“Uh. What do you want me to do with it?”

“Just leave it outside.”

Poe eyed the coffee. “No, I'm taking it.”

A scandalised noise was cut off by another, which sounded much more flustered, followed by a moan which sounded distinctly like Ben's name. Poe took it as a cue to leave; after all, the common room had plenty of comfortable chairs for him to enjoy his newly acquired coffee.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just felt like I *had* to get this in before the end of the fic. :)  
> Thank you all for your lovely comments! I re-read some of them the other day and it really boosted my mood lol.  
> My research into the uni has yeilded me information that a lot of colleges have plays put on in the college, you are NOT ALLOWED to walk on the grass part of the quads, and also that Worcester has quite a big lawn - this chapter, brought to you by that information.  
> I'm on tumblr [@pompous-hat](https://pompous-hat.tumblr.com/)!


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